Pem Redivivus
by pamlin
Summary: Time travelers and time travel devices... What kind of havoc does Pem wreak this time? Not mine, not making money... Just borrowing characters to entertain myself. Enjoy, and please do review! Thanks to all my readers who read and reviewed the work. I appreciate your words of encouragement!
1. Chapter 1

Pem Redivivus

He tapped the last tiny, roughly-made gear, and felt it slide into place. The soft click heralded success. With an anticipatory hiss of breath through his teeth and a quick twist of the winding knob, he set the gears in motion, rotating smoothly in spite of their clumsily-honed cogs. Hours of filing had smoothed the sharp edges and made it possible for the mechanism to function, despite its inexpertly made parts. It was far from his best workmanship, but Pem smiled at it with a pride he hadn't felt in his earlier, better work. That timepiece was lost beyond hope, but this one…

This one he had built with his own hands under less than perfect circumstances, constantly on the look-out, hiding it when the prison guards walked by, working out new theories on how to shield it, lovingly crafting in the dark, using his sense of touch to cut and smooth the tiny bits of metal he had smuggled out of the cafeteria, found in the exercise yard, or stolen when no one was looking. Three years of his life had been spent giving it every spare moment… And now he held the completed device in his hands. It wasn't eighteen karat gold with jewel work, and the fine engraving for which he was famous; instead, it was fashioned of stainless steel and aluminum and any other bits of metal he could get his fingers on, and cut and carved with clumsy tools made from bits of his bed. But he had succeeded where they had all thought he would fail.

Pem laughed. Oh, yes, they thought they had him all locked up, had pulled all his teeth, that he was a harmless fool, shut away in a prison that could keep him. But with this new device, no prison could keep him… He could go where he pleased, and wreak his revenge.

Three years… It had taken three years to construct his path to freedom. Three years of hell in a place where time travel might as well not exist for all the taste he could get of it. No one here had any understanding of how necessary slipping in and out of time was to him; life and breath, inspiration and hope… He couldn't live without the feel of years rushing past him as he moved backwards and forwards through yesterdays and tomorrows… He needed time travel, like other people needed water. Without it, he was slowly dying here. The Time Board, led just this once by Admiral Crane – but with the full approval of his arch nemesis, Admiral Morton - had condemned him to death when they placed him here…

For three years he had been dying as he worked: A year to puzzle out the theories involved. This timepiece had to be shielded from the Time Board's notice, or they would simply confiscate it. He had to figure out how to do that, how to infuse the metal parts with his invented temporal shielding, so that he could use the device with impunity. And then he had discovered that he couldn't use it after all. The temporal shielding impeded the action of the timepiece, making it far less effective and dangerously unreliable… So back to the drawing board, more work, more formulae scribbled on his sheets, copied surreptitiously on the wall beneath his bed where the guards never looked… At last he'd arrived at a way of minimizing the displacement of energy that allowed for time travel so that the surge of power was virtually undetectable…

Then a year to beg, borrow, or steal the parts. Mostly steal them. He had had to pull out the inner workings of the box spring on his bed and make his own primitive tools… The worst had been getting the edge on the tiny little metal saw he'd made… He'd had to steal a file from the mechanics department to do that, and it had taken hours, if not days, to finally get the edge honed to the sharpness he'd needed. His tools had had to be so small that he could hardly use them, so that they could be easily hidden when the guards looked in or when the other prisoners became nosy.

And then a year to make the device, incorporating all his new design theories, and even adding some last-minute elements. He had cut a clumsy spiral design into the case of the timepiece, then honed the metal to a bright shine, so that it instantly dazzled. He had gotten the idea from one of the prisoners, who had been interred because he was a master hypnotist, who had found a way to get his subjects to do his bidding, twisting situations until they would even kill for him… Amazing, since the human mind was so incredibly stubborn. But it could be tricked; Pem had paid attention and learned from the hypnotist, and he thought he could use the timepiece to plant suggestions, make facts seem different…

It had changed his plan for revenge. At first, he'd intended to wreak havoc on that wretched submarine, maybe even blow it up, and in so doing, perhaps he would even succeed in eradicating those two unreasonable, unscrupulous officers who had put him here… Admiral Morton, who had recused himself from the hearing but still been present to give testimony – damn him, he'd always been a thorn in Pem's side… Always! But now there was Admiral Crane who had looked at Pem as if he were some sort of offensive insect and sentenced him to twenty years – twenty years! – here in the Lunar Penal Colony, where they lived under the dome and were so carefully watched… And no time travel…

How had he survived for three years without the rush that time travel gave him? Only revenge had kept him alive… And now here he was, on the cusp of putting his plans in play.

Pem smiled, looking at his reflection in the highly polished gleam of the watch case. So unassuming, an Everyman whom very few would notice. He never seemed out of place, no matter what time he was in. He wouldn't seem out of place at Fleet Headquarters a week ago. Everyone would have forgotten what poor old Pem had looked like… A few minor changes, such as the beard he'd grown, and the muscles he'd built up working on the lunar surface, and no one would have a clue who he was. He would start with driving a wedge between Admiral Morton and Admiral Crane; a wedge that would make them at the least bitter rivals, and at the most hated enemies. Oh, yes, he would pay money to see that!

And while those two were at each other's throats, they wouldn't notice him slipping back into the past, to that thrice-damned submarine and Admiral Nelson who had spoiled everything. Admirals figured over-much in this tale, and he would take care of every one of them. And by ending the submarine, he would put an end to his two nemeses… Then perhaps he would see if he couldn't get elected to the Time Board…

Mr. Augustus Pem, President of the Time Board… Yes, he liked the sound of that. He liked it very much indeed… He studied his image in the watch case: yes, he could look lordly and important if he wanted to. Taming his smile, he put on a sober face. "Good evening, sir. You have been summoned before the Time Board because…"

Yes… He could make the rules, and then enforce them. He could make sure that everybody who had ever thwarted him would pay. He could be the driving force behind making his world freer and better for himself…

But first things first. He would go to headquarters to disrupt a friendship that had put him behind bars, and then the submarine… Revenge would be very sweet, oh, very sweet indeed… Unable to continue to suppress the smile, Pem pressed his finger on the knob at the top of the timepiece and slid into the embrace of his old friend, Time…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The office was a little on the cold side, though its owner didn't seem to notice. Admiral Harriman Crane sipped his coffee – too strong for the average sailor, but just the way he and Jack – Admiral John Nelson Morton – liked it. Sipping coffee gave him a moment to think about what he'd just heard and process how he was going to deal with it. When he'd made up his mind, he set the cup down on the elegant occasional table by his chair and arched an eyebrow at his friend. "Another inspection? Didn't we do one just last month?"

Jack Morton sat back in his chair and targeted Harry with a frosty gaze. "Pem," he said succinctly. "Need I say more?"

Crane heaved a sigh; he'd thought that was it. Sometimes Jack could be a little wacky when it came to Mr. Augustus Pem. Considering that Pem had tried to eradicate him from history and damned near succeeded, Harry really couldn't blame him. But enough was enough; this fixation on Pem was unhealthy and needed to be nipped in the bud now. He was older than his friend by about two months, and surely that made him at least that much wiser. "Come on, Jack. How many people have ever escaped from the Lunar Penal colony? Anybody?" He knew the answer to that one, because he'd checked it out himself before coming here. "They know how dangerous Pem is, and they know what they're doing. You'll just make them resentful if you keep heading out there to inspect them every month." He reached out to pick up his cup again, savoring the warmth against his skin. It really was just a bit too cold in here. But then Jack had always been a little warmer natured than Harry. At the Academy their room had always been freezing. He stifled a smile at the thought and sipped his coffee, then set his cup down firmly. "Get a grip, buddy."

Jack scowled and shook his head, as pig-headed as ever. "I have a very good grip, thank you." His scowl softened to a half-smile when Harry rolled his eyes and picked up his coffee cup again. But he didn't back down. It simply wasn't in his nature. "I am completely aware that if it hadn't been for Admiral Nelson, I wouldn't exist today. I don't plan to let Pem get that close…" He trailed off suddenly and blinked. Alert to a problem, Harry set his cup down with a click and studied the man across the desk from him closely. Jack seemed uncertain suddenly, and there was a strange and disconcerting look of confusion in his eyes.

Disconcerting enough that Crane leaned forward, and rapped on the desk to draw his friend's attention with his movement and the noise. "Are you okay?"

Jack blinked and his eyes focused on Harry, but the confusion held, joined by a hesitant air that sent a chill slithering up Harry's spine. "Yes… Yes, I'm fine… What were we talking about?"

Okay, that was odd… What was going on here? "We were talking about Pem, remember?" Fine… The standard answer to any query about his welfare… And a lot of the time it was a blatant lie; Harry couldn't throw stones, because he was just as guilty, but he didn't like that confusion, or the underlying apprehension. "You wanted to go to the moon and check on him, and I was trying to talk you out of it…"

The confusion remained; if anything, it deepened. "Pem? Who the hell is Pem?" Jack pushed his chair back; the squeal of the casters against the floor told the tale of his distress, and made Harry wince. He rose at the same moment Jack did and moved around the desk.

Jack backed away from him, and now there was a slight touch of fear behind the gray eyes, and absolutely no recognition at all. "And while we're talking about it, who the hell are you?"

Harry froze and stared in surprise. What the hell was going on here? "Jack…" He listened to the name fall between them, not sure what to say to bring a flash of recognition to those cold gray eyes. "Jack, you are _**not**_ fine…" The tempest that was rising in that gaze hid the confusion and fear, but Harry was well aware that it was the result of them. "Come on, Jack, this isn't funny…"

"Damn straight it isn't…" The words echoed his, but the voice held anger and something else, something that cut Harry to ribbons. "Whoever the hell you are, I want you out of my office, now."

 _Not happening, Jack…_ There was no way Harry would walk away from a friend so clearly in distress; he didn't know what kind of disorder would cause this strange and sudden lack of memory, but he had never in his life been able to walk away from a friend in need. Besides, this was Jack… His brother-in-law, the man who had saved his life more times than he could count, his best friend, damn it… No, he wasn't about to clear out and leave Jack to whatever disease had attacked him. "Now, Jack, let's calm down, and talk about this."

Jack shook his head, and his breathing quickened. He lifted a hand to his head, and Harry watched in dismay as the hand shook. "What's happening?" The words were so quiet, Harry hardly heard them… He wished he had an answer; in lieu of one, he stepped closer and gripped his friend's arm hard, unwilling to let him tear free. Whatever was wrong here, he needed to find help fast.

"Dr. Kowalski is on duty today… Let me call him." He tightened his grip at the attempt to pull away, but was unprepared for the cry of pain and the slow, staggering collapse. "Jack!" He went down, too, easing the fall, and heard his friend's soft whimper; the gray eyes were shrouded in pain now, as if his memories were changing... And now Harry's own head begin to swim, and pain stabbed his temple. When memories shifted around like mercury, excruciating pain accompanied them. Clearly someone was mucking about with time. Harry winced, but refused to let go of Jack to make a futile attempt to ease his own pain.

Jack... He remembered now that Jack had been acting strange all week, as if he were unsure of what he was doing, as if... As if he'd somehow lost his memory... Only that couldn't be right...

He gasped as the pain deepened, ripping through his memories and rearranging them violently. He crouched over Jack, seeking some kind of comfort in their shared pain. Was everyone experiencing this? There would be hell to pay for whoever was changing the past... But without knowing who and why and what, Harry wasn't sure how they were going to fix it...

A new memory rose to the forefront of his mind... Security guards had come running for him; someone had apparently assaulted Jack right in his office... Right here at headquarters, then taken off running through the gardens when things went wrong... And from that point on, everything had been different... He couldn't put his finger on what had changed; Jack was functioning, but there was something... broken about him... Something off...

The pain began to ease finally. Realizing where they were, what had happened, Harry reluctantly released his friend's arm and rose. "Jack, I'm going for Ski. I'll be right back, I promise…" He hated to leave, but he could see no other options. For better or worse, Jack wasn't himself; hopefully, Ski would know what to do. Please, God, let Ski know what to do… "Right back," he said again, though it was doubtful that Jack even heard the words. He left the room at a run.

The infirmary was just down the hall; Harry burst through the doors, singled out Ski and breathlessly poured out his distress. "It's Jack! Something's wrong, Ski, I have no idea… You have to come now!" He spun and ran back down the hall, without waiting for Ski to follow him. As he flung open the office door, he saw Jack struggling to get up, just for a second, and then – before Harry even had time to protest – he vanished…

Harry skidded to a stop inches from where his friend had been only moments before, and felt a terrible sinking in his stomach… It was very clear that somehow he had slipped back in time… But with no memory, and in clear distress, where would he go, and how would Harry ever find him?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

(A week before...)

Pem darted into the shadow of a doorway and leaned against the wall, panting. This hadn't gone well at all… Oh, he'd found his victim, easily enough but from that point everything had gone wrong.

He should have known it would, of course. Admiral Morton was not your average man; Pem should have been well aware that Morton would never react the way Pem thought he should. He'd been dazzled by the brightness of the watch, and the hazily spinning spiral scratched thereon… But the watch hadn't worked the way it was supposed to. Instead, it had appeared to wipe any and every memory Morton had. He had collapsed, hands pressed against his temples, and then cried out in savage pain. Shortly after that, all hell had broken loose. Alarms had sounded, people had poured into the hallways, and Pem had run faster than he'd ever run in his life, just to get away. He wasn't sure yet that he'd managed to shake off pursuit.

What in the hell had happened? All his ideas about hypnosis had been proven completely wrong. Was it the watch? Had he somehow misjudged its properties? And if it really could erase memories, what had he let himself in for? The Time Board would never let him escape now…

He slid down the wall to sit on the ground, grateful for the breather, but staring into thoughts that were very black indeed. At the time he'd activated the hypnosis cycle, he'd felt an odd lurch in his own head, and then memories that were not his had seeped into his brain. Thoughts and memories had swum about in his head, as if he'd affected a real change in time, but it hadn't lasted nearly as long, and he hadn't recognized any of the faces swimming around in his head… Except one… For just a moment, he'd had a glimpse of the man's office, Admiral Crane, a cup of coffee… And then the Morton who was still a week away from that office and that cup of coffee had collapsed, and Pem had had to run, to escape. Now he looked at the timepiece in his hand fearfully. What exactly had he done? What was he holding here in his hand?

He knew, with a clarity that shook him to the roots of his very soul, that Admiral Morton had lost all his memory, that he had no idea who he was or where he was or even when he was… All of the man's identity existed now in Pem's head… And in the week that he would exist until time claimed him, he would somehow muddle through with no one the wiser, until - in that office where Admiral Crane was sipping coffee with his friend – he would lose it completely and flee backwards in time… And Pem knew – knew in his gut, with a certainty that turned him cold – that Morton had slipped into the past as his memory fled, to a place that Pem could see clearly.

Admiral Nelson's Institute of Marine Research… Why there? Pem was rather afraid that he'd planted that seed himself, in the few seconds when he'd tried to hypnotize away any friendship Crane and Morton had built in the years after the Academy. Perhaps he should have gone back twenty-something years to the Academy itself and prevented that friendship from ever forming…

He stared at the watch he'd made as if seeing it for the first time… It caused something much darker than he'd expected. The Time Board, once they figured it out – and he had no doubt that they would immediately link his own disappearance from the prison, and Morton's disappearance from the timeline together at once – would chase him down through the ages. There was no time he could hide in…

Much darker… Memory loss, time shifts…

Suddenly a smile curved his lips… Maybe this whole situation wasn't so bad after all… He closed his fingers around the timepiece. He'd made a terrible masterpiece; what was he going to do with it? In trying to destroy a friendship, he'd destroyed memory instead; at the same time, he'd somehow created a link between his worst enemy and himself, such that he knew where Morton was when it was doubtful anyone else did. Not only that, he was now intimately aware of how Morton thought, what went on in his head where no one could see… He could still have his revenge… and destroy Admiral Nelson, too.

But how? The plan would have to be a very good one indeed, if it were going to succeed against Nelson. Destroy the submarine? Perhaps it wasn't absolutely necessary. A change of plans was definitely in order. But homework would have to be done. The Institute was in Santa Barbara, California; that he remembered from three years ago. That plan had perhaps been a little too elaborate. Something simpler was needed now… With no memory and no hope of getting it back, Morton would be easy enough to dispatch, once he could wrestle the admiral's time travel device from him. Nelson would require more thought, but Pem had an idea that the path to destroying Nelson lay in destroying his men. He could use his watch on Captain Crane… But he would have to go further back into the past, Crane's past…

What effect would that have on his own Admiral Harriman Crane, Pem wondered… Was it possible that destroying Lee Crane's memory would eradicate Harriman Crane? Could he destroy all his enemies with one blow?

Something to think about very carefully. Pem gently pressed the button on his watch and slid further into the past.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Chief Francis Sharkey felt the ground lurch under his feet and cursed the San Andreas fault. California was great, as long as you didn't care about the earthquakes. Unfortunately, Sharkey cared passionately about the earthquakes. The ground wasn't supposed to shake under your feet. Bad enough that Seaview did the good old rock and roll every now and again, but ashore, the ground ought to be stable. He stood still for a moment, waiting to see if another tiny little shock occurred; seemed like the damn things traveled in pairs, sometimes…

But there was nothing. And come to think of it, the first tiny little lurch had been subtle enough… Maybe it wasn't an earthquake at all? He racked his brain trying to remember where he'd felt an odd little lurch like that before, but his memory wouldn't cooperate. At last, he shrugged and continued on into the warehouse to find the part that Mr. Morton and the skipper needed to make repairs to the Echo device. Not that Mr. Morton was allowed to make repairs... He was still on restricted duty, after the last fiasco with Admiral Lura, which was why the skipper and Sharkey were keeping an eye on him. The chief knew that if anything untoward happened, Dolores would get that steely look in her eyes... The one that made everyone who was on the receiving end of it very uncomfortable indeed... She took her duties as Mr. Morton's yeoman very seriously, and she would not be best pleased if he were injured on the chief's and the skipper's watch... Given that their relationship was progressing very nicely indeed, the last thing Sharkey wanted was to feel the full force of her displeasure...

As to Echo, well, they were overhauling it because the Navy wanted to see it in action before they bought it. Next month, therefore, Seaview would proceed to Pearl Harbor to meet the Pacific fleet and test Echo. And naturally the skipper wasn't about to go without first overhauling Echo and making sure she was in tip-top shape…

A groan in the darkness alerted him to another's presence. Someone in pain, apparently. He reached out and jerked the switch up, illuminating the space. The groan had been off to his left. Who was in here? He'd just unlocked the door before that little lurch… and nobody else had the keys except Mr. Morton, and he was in Seaview's control room with the skipper, pacing like a caged lion... Which in a way, Sharkey supposed he was, at least until the last few restrictions were lifted by the doc.

Which meant, naturally, that the groan hadn't come from anyone with a legitimate reason to be here. The chief's eyes narrowed, and he wished for a gun. Instead, he dropped his hand to the radio at his belt. No need to call for back-up just yet… He'd check it out first.

Carefully, he eased to the left, around a pile of crates, listening hard. Another sound came to his ears, the scuffling of someone trying desperately to get up. Had to be human; the sound was too loud and too much for an injured animal. "Who's there?" he called sharply. The admiral wouldn't be best pleased if his security had been breached. They had been beefing it up since the Greek affair, because the admiral was certain that Dr. Gamma would make a try for something. Probably Echo... And Admiral Nelson had sworn to protect his men, Seaview, and the rest of his inventions – in that order – from any strike Gamma might make. To have put in place stronger, tighter security, only to have it breached immediately would definitely ruin the admiral's day... and therefore everyone else's day. "Who's there?" he asked again sharply.

Instantly the sound ceased, but he could still hear breathing, soft and quick, indicating anxiety. Someone who didn't want to be caught then, which signaled an intruder. Sharkey pulled the radio from his belt, but some sixth sense made him hesitate. Instead of calling security, he eased to his left and peered around a pile of crates.

Someone was definitely there in the shadows, pressed up against the crates, but that pale hair was noticeable. Sharkey stepped into the space and sized up the intruder. He didn't look like he was dangerous, but…

Sharkey cocked his head, and spoke without thinking. "Mr. Morton! How did you…" He trailed into silence… This wasn't Mr. Morton. Enough like him to be related easily, almost a twin, but this man was older by a handful of years and nowhere near as tall. Sharkey glanced at his collar and saw four stars, in place of the gold oak leaves. An admiral? What in the heck was an admiral doing hiding in the Institute warehouse? "Who are you?"

The intruder made no more attempt to hide himself. Instead, he barked back at Sharkey, just like an admiral, his tone sharp and stony. "I could ask the same question, chief."

But Sharkey wasn't having any of that. "No, sir, you couldn't. You're on Nelson Institute grounds without authority, and I don't care how many stars you have, you don't belong here." He advanced pugnaciously. "Now, you want to tell me who you are, or do I have to call security?"

The reaction was not what he had expected. In his experience, admirals didn't like their orders being bucked, but instead of exploding, this one honed in on the name Nelson and almost looked... relieved? "Admiral Nelson?" The words were hesitant, but the eyes were cold and hard. He was bulling through this, no matter how much in the wrong he was. "Answer me, chief!"

"Not that it's any of your business, sir." Sharkey's brusque tone turned the words gruff and impatient. "But yes, this is Admiral Nelson's Institute. Where you don't belong, in a warehouse where you have no business being. Care to explain yourself, sir?"

"Not to you." Those gray eyes narrowed and turned icy; damn, that glare was uncannily like Mr. Morton's. "Take me to Admiral Nelson."

Like that was going to happen... "Seriously? You expect me to take a total stranger – who has somehow breached our security – to see Admiral Nelson?" This guy must be loony tunes, or something.

Whoever he was, he winced, and lifted a shaking hand to his head. All the bravado melted away, and suddenly he looked very young – much too young to be an admiral – and very vulnerable... and like he was in a lot of pain. "I need to see the admiral, chief..." His voice was nowhere near as sharp as it had been. The eyes had dulled under the onslaught of what Sharkey could only think was a monster headache.

The chief felt a rush of sympathy for the intruder and pushed it down. He was not going to feel sorry for some guy who had somehow sneaked in where he wasn't wanted. He pulled the radio from his belt. "If you're not going to answer my questions, then it's time to call..."

He didn't finish because the guy grew deathly pale and sank to his knees with a soft gasp of pain. Okay, something wasn't right here... Sharkey crouched down, looking at the man with concern. "Sir? Are you all right?"

His radio crackled at just the wrong moment. He laid a hand on the guy's arm, just in case he made a break for it – though the chief really didn't think he would – and answered the call a bit more sharply than he intended. "Yes?"

There was a brief frozen silence, then Mr. Morton's voice came clearly over the radio. "We're still waiting on that part, chief."

Damn... This was the last thing Sharkey needed... He'd forgotten all about that part. And he should tell Mr. Morton about the intruder, but something – he couldn't quite put his finger on it – made him hesitate. If he told Mr. Morton about this guy, the XO would hotfoot it down here to see for himself, and Sharkey thought bad things might happen if the two of them were together in one room... He didn't know why he thought that... But the idea of two people so very much alike in the same room together sent a little warning shiver up his spine... So, "I'm on it, sir," he said instead, hoping that would satisfy for the time being.

Of course, it didn't. "Do you need help, COB?" The voice was brilliantly sarcastic. Sharkey cursed under his breath.

"No, sir. I'm good." He couldn't resist adding, "And you shouldn't be lifting anything heavy yet, sir. Or climbing on ladders..." It would get him in trouble in the long run, but it was just too good an opportunity to miss, and the skipper would have to back him up, because Sharkey was absolutely right. The whole crew had memorized Doc's restrictions. That gunshot had scared them all. Lura should have been lynched, not sent to some cozy little sanitarium in New York state. Sharkey's lip curled as he shut the radio off and tugged the intruder to his feet. "Okay, against my better judgment I'll take you to Admiral Nelson. But you need to tell me who you are, first?"

By this time the guy was in clear distress, and Sharkey thought he probably ought to be taken to see Doc McKenzie instead of Admiral Nelson. If it was a headache, it must be the granddaddy of all migraines, because there was no injury, nothing that would account for it otherwise. He had both hands pressed to his temples now, and his breathing was labored. But he came up with an answer that left Sharkey's stomach sinking. "I don't know... I don't know how I got here, I don't know when I am... I don't know..." He broke off with a gasp and practically collapsed into Sharkey's arms. Not good... So not good. Mr. Morton would probably be on his way by now, annoyed by that last snarky comment, and wanting to know what was keeping Sharkey. He had to get this guy out of here... And he knew he wouldn't be calling security now. Whatever he was, this guy was no threat.

 _I don't know when I am..._

Again Sharkey shivered; time travel? Was this all about time travel? And if so, was this guy the Pem that had wreaked so much havoc before? He glared at the man he held, but somehow, he didn't believe – couldn't believe – that this man was Pem. Nash would surely have indicated somehow that his phantom provocateur looked so much like Mr. Morton. The admiral would have said something if Pem were an admiral, too... Surely?

"Okay, sir," he murmured and hefted the guy up and over his shoulder, making for the entrance at the opposite end of the warehouse, so he wouldn't meet Mr. Morton coming in. Something clattered on the concrete floor, drowning out the vague protest from the guy he was carrying. Sharkey looked down and saw the thing gleaming in the dim light, against the gray cement. Instinctively he picked it up and studied the object curiously.

Gold... Intricate... Initials – J.N.M. - etched with a fine flourish in the metal... The design was completely unfamiliar, and yet there was no mistaking the object. A watch...


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Nelson frowned at the intercom on his desk. His report on Seaview's last mission was due in Washington by the end of the week, and it was already Wednesday. He'd asked Angie to hold all calls and cancel all his appointments, and yet here she was buzzing him. He stabbed a finger at the intercom button. "Angie, I thought I told you to cancel all my appointments!"

"Yes, sir." One thing about Angie; she never flinched when he bellowed at her. "The COB sent up something for you, sir, and requested that you call him on his cell phone." He heard the click as she hung up her end, and a few minutes later, she came through his door. "I thought I ought to let you know I was coming," she said brightly, and laid an object on his desk. "The chief says you have his cell phone number. I told him you were busy, sir."

"Yes, yes, thank you!" Nelson waved her away and went back to his computer, but as he glared at the screen, he noticed the thing she'd laid on his desk. Reaching out, he picked it up and turned it in his fingers. What was this thing? Some kind of watch, obviously, but then what was the purpose of all these other knobs and flourishes? He frowned, experiencing an odd sense of deja vu. Somewhere he'd seen something like this... Not the same design, but with those extra knobs... He turned the thing and saw the initials: J.N.M. The owner's initials, obviously, but Nelson didn't know anyone with those initials. Why had Sharkey sent him this thing?

He flipped the watch open, noting its resemblance to an old-fashioned pocket watch. A superficial resemblance, actually, founded on the clean lines and familiar weight and feel, rather than the combination of metals and the simple but elegant Art Deco curves and arabesques. Not at all like... He drew in a breath. Not like Pem's watch, that had looked and felt like an antique pocket watch. This one had a more futuristic design, but felt comfortable in the fingers. Another time traveler, this time, unless Pem had become more modernistic in his tastes...

Again he looked at the initials. J.N.M. The M could stand for Morton... Admiral Morton?

Nelson closed his fingers over the watch with a curse. He had nothing against Admiral Morton – in fact, he liked the man immensely - but if he were here, it meant something was up, and the last thing Nelson wanted was more time travel havoc. The last time had left him terribly scarred... He didn't want any more memories of death averted. He reached for his cell phone, understanding Francis' caution. No radios, no Institute phones that could be and often were monitored. If this had anything to do with Pem, Nelson didn't want it getting around.

His first thought was to radio down to Seaview and have his command team put under wraps immediately. The last time, he'd almost lost them, and he wasn't going to face that again, anytime soon. But reason overcame overprotective caution. Best to talk to Francis first and see what was going on here... He dialed the number, and glared impatiently at the watch in his hand. He didn't care if Morton was his XO's descendant; he'd kick the man back to his own time in a heartbeat, given the chance.

"Admiral?" Francis' voice, a bit hesitant.

Nelson growled roughly into the phone. "What the hell, Francis? Where are you? What is this thing you sent me, and where did you get it?"

Francis was uncharacteristically hesitant. "Uh... sir... I think you need to come down here and let me show you."

"Where? Where are you? I thought you were on Seaview helping Captain Crane and Mr. Morton!" Which was certainly where the COB should have been and manifestly was not.

And that created another problem. Both Lee and Chip would be hunting Francis down, if he didn't report his position in a timely manner. They were probably already looking for him in fact, and Nelson had no idea what would happen if Chip Morton came into close contact with his descendant. He suspected the results of that meeting would not be pretty, though he wasn't quite sure why...

"Uh... I'm kind of avoiding them right now, sir."

And that was so not good... Chip would be on the warpath, if Francis didn't report in, soon. The XO wasn't allowed to help with the repairs and the overhauling of Echo. Dolores had kindly but firmly taken on all the reports. Chip wasn't allowed to lift anything over five pounds and he couldn't even ascend or descend ladders. He had to use the sail hatch to get to the control room. All of which made him impatient and irritable. Francis would feel the full brunt of that impatient irritation if he continued to avoid his commanding officers... And it was doubtful that Lee could save him from Chip's wrath... The XO was not unreasonable, ever, but he was bored with all the inactivity. Although he was trying to follow Will's restrictions, as he continued to heal, it became harder and harder to keep him on a leash...

Francis' voice interrupted the admiral's thoughts. "I'm in the basement of the infirmary... Could you come down here, sir? It's kind of... important."

Important? When Francis thought something was important, it generally was. Nelson looked at the watch again and stifled an impulse to bellow. Whatever this was, it interfered with his reports, with the refit on Echo, with every project they had going... But if it was time-travel related, it truly was important. The last thing they needed was Pem running amok again. "This had better be good, Sharkey." He hung up and rose from his chair. As he swept past his startled executive assistant he barked at her. "I'm going out. Continue to hold all calls. And don't worry about me!"

He caught the elevator, growled at the security chief, Hall, when he attempted to get in on the second floor, and went down in solitary silence to the lowest level, which must have been what Francis meant by the basement of the infirmary. Their Institute hospital – presided over by Will McKenzie – was in the bowels of this building, below the ground floor. It was state of the art, but keeping it tucked away beneath the Institute's offices where no outsider would expect it to be protected it much more securely, if the Institute should ever be breached. In addition, it could be closed off, and the elevator prevented from venturing down there in case of a breach. The infirmary could be made completely self-sufficient if need be, enhancing its security. Below its three floors and numerous wards, was a true basement, mostly empty, except for the few items that the Institute no longer had use for. He stepped out of the elevator and looked around with narrowed eyes. "COB?"

Francis peered out from a doorway further down the darkened corridor leading from the elevator. "Here, sir." He ducked back inside the room. The admiral snorted impatiently and strode toward the doorway.

"What are you hiding? You do know that Captain Crane and Mr. Morton are going to have your head..." He entered the room and trailed into silence. Damn... As he had suspected, this was going to be a real complication...

Admiral Morton stretched out on the floor, too pale, possibly unconscious, his breathing too shallow and far too quick. His uncanny resemblance to his ancestor – who at the moment was probably breathing threats and murder against Francis – was enhanced by the shadowy darkness, the closed eyes, and that wan face that looked so much younger in repose than when awake and alert. The dark circles under those eyes stood out like bruises against the pale skin. What he was doing here was anybody's guess.

Nelson pulled the watch out of his pocket and looked at it again. This was how he had arrived here. The question was why. But first he had to find out what was wrong with the man. He turned a sharp, accusatory glare on Francis. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, sir, I swear!" Francis blustered, clearly sincere. "He came here all on his own, and before I could get anything out of him, he just... collapsed..." He gave the admiral a curious look. "Do you know him, sir?"

Nelson nodded solemnly, and crouched down beside the younger admiral. "He's the reason we had to deal with Pem."

He didn't realize how that must have sounded until he heard Francis curse and move convulsively. Couldn't leave the chief thinking that Admiral Morton was the bad guy, when in fact he'd been the victim. He looked up at Francis with a brief disclaimer. "I don't mean he's any friend of Pem's, chief. Pem was trying to get rid of him. Nearly succeeded, too."

Francis was clearly confused, but he was quick on the uptake. Nelson didn't bother to explain any further. Instead, he frowned in concern at their visitor. He didn't have a mark on him, that Nelson could see, but was clearly in distress. Labored breathing and pallor told that tale. The admiral laid a hand against Morton's forehead, checking for fever. There wasn't any, but the touch startled the man, and he jerked away, eyes opening. Not unconscious, obviously.

"Who are you?" Admiral Morton barked crisply, clearly a man used to giving orders. But the widened eyes, the dilated pupils, the rapid, shallow breaths told a different story. He was putting on a good front – something he had in common with his ancestor – but he was clearly confused and terrified. His question surprised Nelson.

Surprise hardened his voice, so that he snapped much more sharply than he had intended. "You came to me, Admiral Morton. Now you pretend you don't know me? Care to tell me what's going on here?"

"I _don't_ know you!" Admiral Morton snapped back, as sharply as Nelson himself. "And I have no idea what's going on here!"

And Nelson believed him. The truth was clear in the intensity of the fear in those blue eyes, and the quickness of breath as if he had run a marathon... But also in the complete lack of recognition present in that gaze. True, they'd only met once, but the meeting had been memorable, as far as Admiral Nelson was concerned. He wouldn't soon forget Pem's meddling, or the trauma it had caused. He was certain that Admiral Morton wouldn't forget either... although clearly he had... Nelson took a deep breath and tried to make his voice as reasonable as possible. "I am Admiral Harriman Nelson. You came to me once before for help with Mr. Pem."

The words elicited no response. Nelson frowned fiercely. "You're Admiral Morton. Surely you remember that..." But he knew before he'd finished speaking that the man didn't. And the only reason Nelson could think of that Admiral Morton wouldn't remember who he was or anything else was that Mr. Pem had clearly been meddling. Again. "Did Pem do this to you?" Stupid question, really. Who else would do this to the man? And even if it hadn't been Pem, Morton clearly didn't know who it had been.

"Who's Pem?" The words were as sharp as Admiral Nelson's had been. The man hadn't lost his edge... only his memory. Nelson reflected that all the bellowing wasn't going to solve anything. He would have to strike the right note, approach the situation as if it were Jiggs glaring at him, Jiggs who couldn't remember anything. What would he do, if that were the case?

"A mutual enemy." He couldn't quite prevent the dry irritation, but he had successfully lowered his voice and tried to moderate his tone. This wasn't Admiral Morton's fault. "I think he's the one who's stolen your memory..." He paused, his eyes narrowing. How much did the younger man remember? "What do you remember?"

Morton had settled a bit now; clearly he no longer felt threatened. He shook his head and looked away; embarrassed perhaps? Which was nonsense, but then emotions weren't always rational. "Nothing. I don't know who I am, where I am..." He splayed his hands in frustration. "Not even when I am... And I don't know why the time period feels so important..." He shuddered suddenly, as if the room had turned ice-cold, and what little color he had drained from his face. " _He's_ coming..."

A chill ran up Nelson's spine, and he could feel Francis's alarm as if it were a tangible thing. The words rang hollowly in the dim room. With an effort, Nelson controlled himself, and said crisply, "Who's coming?"

"I don't know... I don't know..." The voice dropped to a whisper, and the look that Morton shot Nelson held a sort of dread. "But he's dangerous..."

Well, that was great... Nelson heaved a sigh and turned to give orders to Francis.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Commander Lee Crane glanced at his agitated companion and almost grinned. Almost... Lieutenant Commander Chip Morton wasn't seeing the humor in the situation, and hadn't been as approachable as usual lately. He was frustrated by his forced inactivity, and not inclined to be a forgiving sort of person at the moment. So Lee contained his amusement and said casually, "You know he was probably commandeered by Admiral Nelson."

Sharkey's continued absence was the source of the leashed irritation in the control room. They had sent him for a part, and the chief had never returned. In fact, other than one conversation over the radio, they hadn't heard from Sharkey again. Lee pushed down his own latent irritation and continued to soothe the savage beast that stalked the control room. "You know that if the admiral got hold of him, the COB would have to drop everything..."

"Echo?" Chip's voice showed restraint; it was neither sharp nor short, but the undertone of impatience was clear. "Admiral Nelson wants it shipshape by next week, and here we are, waiting for Sharkey to return with a part I could easily have gotten myself..."

"Hold on." Lee unfolded from his seat on the floor by Echo's dismantled casing and crossed his arms with a sharp glare. "You're still on restricted duty. No part-fetching for you." He smiled to take the sting out of the words, and kept his frustration to himself. He was the last one to throw stones, given his own irritability at forced inaction. He hated to sit on the sidelines when everyone else was in play, and he sympathized with Chip who so seldom had to suffer through this. It was easy enough to squelch his frustration at having to constantly ride herd on his XO to keep him in line; too often the shoe had been on the other foot, and Chip had had to quietly manipulate his captain into following Will's orders, because he didn't have the authority to command. In fact, Lee wasn't sure how his XO managed that so well...

The radio crackled, reminding him that that was a conversation for another time. Lee reached for the mike, closing his fingers around it, a split second before Chip reached it. With a grin, he pressed the send button. "Captain Crane."

"Ah, Lee..." Admiral Nelson's voice, holding an intense undercurrent that Lee couldn't really place. Something was wrong; he glanced sharply at Chip, and saw the same realization in the younger man's eyes. "Is Mr. Morton with you?"

"Yes, sir, we're here in the Control Room. Waiting for the COB." He didn't want to get anyone in trouble, but Chief Sharkey really should have been back by now. Probably the admiral would have the answer to that little mystery, but if so, he needed to share. Lee could easily work on Echo; he knew the schematics inside and out, but if it came to that, he'd have to send Chip on some easy errand, to keep him from trying to help.

"Francis is on an errand for me." The admiral clearly wasn't in the mood to explain. "I need you both in my office, on the double. We've had a wrench thrown into the works." The orders came out on a growl; Nelson wasn't pleased, but despite the irritation, his growl wasn't aimed at either Lee or Chip. What could have gone wrong?

Lee glanced at Chip, and shrugged at the startled look of inquiry. "We're on the way, sir. Is something wrong?"

"We'll have that conversation when you get here." Nelson signed off, leaving silence in the Control Room.

After a moment, Lee replaced the mike. "Whatever it is, it must be important..."

"And clearly a cause for concern." Chip swung into step with Lee, as they headed for the sail hatch. "Something to do with Echo?"

But he shook his head immediately, dismissing the idea; Lee couldn't help but agree with him. If it were Echo, then the admiral surely wouldn't have commandeered Sharkey for other duties before they were even finished overhauling it. Lee's thoughts ran in another direction, one he didn't want to share with his XO prematurely. If Gamma was showing his hand at last, then it was for the admiral to decide what needed to be told and what should be kept secret. If Lee had his way, they would tell Chip everything, but the admiral had different ideas, ideas that Lee understood and couldn't argue with...

"Not Echo..." Chip's voice broke into his thoughts. "Something that trumps Echo." He glanced at the captain, but Lee lowered his eyes, not wanting to meet that perceptive gaze.

"We'll know soon." Lee stepped out onto Seaview's deck, and nodded at the OOD, before saluting the colors. Mr. O'Brien seemed absurdly young; Lee wondered at his ability to replace Mr. Bishop, when the second officer finally received his orders to return to the Navy. Bishop at least knew what he was about. O'Brien was a fine diving officer, but Lee thought him too young to be a second officer. However, the admiral had spoken highly of him, and Chip had given qualified approval to the appointment, which meant that Nelson wanted O'Brien for the job, and Chip considered that the young man could learn the duties well enough... Both of them knew what they were about, so Lee had taken into account their recommendations before agreeing to the promotion. They would see soon enough what young Mr. O'Brien was made of...

He leaped to the dock and turned to offer a hand should it be needed. Chip scorned the offer with a withering glare and stepped easily across the gap to the dock. They walked on up toward the offices; as soon as they were out of earshot of the men on the deck of the boat, Chip said quietly, "Dr. Gamma?"

Probably... They had both been warned, even though Lee knew more about what had gone on behind the scenes of their Greek adventure than Chip did. He should have realized, however, that Chip was more than capable of putting two and two together to get the right answer. No matter how much or how little they shared about their various missions, Chip always seemed to be able to intuit what was going on and figure out what was needed. He was an outstanding XO, and someday would make an outstanding captain. Lee hoped that inevitable promotion didn't come too soon, before he had found someone he could depend upon the way he depended on Chip. "I don't know. We know Gamma's probably got his eye on us, but... The admiral didn't sound as if..." He couldn't really put his finger on it. Nelson had certainly sounded grim enough, but... It simply wasn't Gamma grim. Or at least Lee didn't think it was. "Something else. God knows, it could be anything." He kept to himself the possibility that Nelson had finally gotten a trace on Mark White, or perhaps Lura had somehow escaped the facility they'd placed him in... Or perhaps time travel again? Any of those had the potential to be disastrous, without throwing Gamma into the mix...

"But he commandeered Sharkey," Chip pointed out reasonably. "So not just anything. He only puts Sharkey on things he considers important. And dangerous."

Which was only too true... Lee pondered this in silence as they walked. "I think he'd try to put us all under wraps if it were Gamma."

Chip's lips turned slightly upward, a sign that he found Lee's comment somehow amusing, though it wasn't a true smile. "How do you know he isn't planning to do that as soon as we walk into his office?"

Lee snarled at the thought, then smiled. "That would be like him. But we won't stand for it, will we?" He already knew the answer to that. Chip wouldn't raise his voice, not to Admiral Nelson; he had too much admiration and respect for the man. But he would argue. Between his logical arguments, and Lee's fiery passion, they would wear the admiral down. Of that, Lee had absolutely no doubt.

He stopped in front of Nelson's door and glanced at his friend. "Ready to do battle?"

"Only if battle is required," the voice of reason said carefully. Chip opened the door and stood back to let Lee pass, always correct, even though their boat was only subsidized by the Navy.

Angie Carson looked up with a smile. "He's expecting you." With nimble fingers she buzzed them through into Nelson's inner sanctum.

The great man sat behind his desk, disgruntled, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. He never smoked anymore; he had told Lee privately that it was more than his life was worth to hear the constant, respectful reminders that smoking was frowned upon in the close quarters of the submarine from his hard-headed XO. But even though he never smoked, he still chewed on a cigarette when under stress. It was a tangible clue that something had disturbed his equilibrium. "Sit down, gentlemen." He took the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it in the trash can by his desk.

Lee settled into his usual chair, and waited for Chip to sit down as well, before he asked the question uppermost in his mind. "What's wrong, sir?"

The admiral's face twisted in a frown, but he answered forthrightly. "It looks as if Mr. Pem might be back."

Pem... Lee had never met the man, but he knew about him. Pem had caused untold havoc on Seaview a little less than a year ago. Literally untold... Admiral Nelson had been not at all forthcoming about what exactly had occurred while Pem had been on board, and no one except the admiral himself and Steven Nash – who now worked ashore at the Institute's Department of Radar and Sonar – had ever seen the man. Nash, in the grip of full-fledged paranoia, had not been exactly coherent enough to say what had happened. The admiral's word could never be doubted, but he had not chosen to share the experience with anyone, unless it was with Chip during their private conversation after the event. And Chip hadn't shared what had taken place behind those closed doors.

But clearly Pem was a force to be reckoned with; the admiral considered him dangerous, and the admiral was in a position to know. Lee sat up straighter and glanced at Chip.

The XO had turned pale, but remained calm, though that calmness had a bit of the stoic about it. Clearly he knew more about Pem than Lee did, which did not reassure the captain. If anything, it irritated him. Shouldn't the captain of the boat be kept in the loop on anything and anyone who might threaten it? Lee turned his glare on the admiral. "I can't say that I know what kind of danger Pem represents. But then you're aware of that, sir."

The admiral's eyes flared for a moment, sure sign that he was angry. But then the blaze died down, and he simply looked chagrined. "I realize that. I had hoped that we wouldn't have to deal with him again, and... Circumstances were such that I didn't want to have to tell you something that might..." He trailed into silence, staring into the past. "Well, it can't be helped. You're at least more likely to believe me than Chip was when I first told him." He glanced aside at Chip and softened the sting of the words with a smile. "In the world we inhabit, a skeptic is a valuable man, Chip. It's not a criticism."

"I know, sir."

Lee glanced again at his friend, and caught those blue eyes looking at him. The expression in them was intense but unreadable. It didn't really matter; Lee knew him too well to miss the disquiet that lingered behind those eyes. Chip was not happy about Pem's return; more than that, he was armoring himself against what was coming. Not a fact that endeared Pem to Lee.

He glanced back at Admiral Nelson and said simply, "Tell me."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

All in all, that hadn't gone too badly, Admiral Nelson thought as he watched the two young men leave the room. There had been a fuss; he'd expected that, but then again, that was why he'd had them both in here together. They each tempered the other's arguments, and both were inclined to be protective. It was simply the way they were built. He had managed to extract reluctant promises from both to concentrate on Echo's refit, no matter what happened.

The next promise had been far harder to get; Lee lived on the Institute grounds; increasing his personal security was easy, and he didn't need Lee's permission to do it. On the other hand, Chip lived off Institute grounds in the large, well-preserved Victorian house he had inherited from Captain John Phillips. The legacy had been a surprise – John hadn't told anyone, not even Nelson, that he had altered his will; the deaths of his only son and his wife within two weeks of each other had naturally made that imperative. But after coming aboard Seaview, after coming to life again, rising out of the morass of despair he had plunged into after Evelyn committed suicide, John had secretly changed it yet again– and while Nelson understood the reasons behind the change, he hadn't necessarily been happy about it. Security on the grounds was tight; he resented the fact that he couldn't extend that coverage to any of his key personnel who lived off the grounds. But he also knew that asking Chip to abandon the old house, and John's significant legacy, given their deep, father-son relationship, was not an option.

At least not permanently. But with Lee visibly and audibly on his side, he had managed to get his way at least until Pem was dealt with. Will would be happier, too, because his recuperating patient would be close to hand should any complications occur. Unlikely at this point, it was true, but anything was possible...

The admiral could relax a bit, therefore, since both men would be bound by their word; they would concentrate on getting Echo ready for the trials in a month. They were all agreed that the refit needed to be finished; Echo was an important addition to Seaview's arsenal, and Nelson hoped to show it off so well that the Navy agreed to purchase it. Echo would keep the officers and men of the silent service a great deal safer.

More importantly, Lee had bullied Chip into moving back onto Institute grounds at least until the Pem problem was dealt with. Which gave Nelson a chance to quietly look into the feasibility of beefing up security in and around that old Victorian house; he'd been itching to do it since John had joined the Institute. Maybe now he'd get the chance...

But first, he had to deal with Pem. As it had been a decent amount of minutes since Lee and Chip had left, Nelson rose and strode into Angie's office. "Hold my calls until further notice. If an emergency arises, call my cell." He went on out into the hallway and down to the elevator. Time to see if he could get anymore information from Admiral Morton. It didn't seem likely, but the admiral intended to dig as deeply into that damaged psyche as he could.

The problem was two-pronged: first, he didn't know how Pem was involved, though he was 100 percent certain that he was the dangerous man Admiral Morton had spoken of. Second, Nelson had no idea what had happened to the man, but it was clear that Admiral Morton had lost his memory, and therefore, it had to be retrieved somehow. Pem was probably responsible for that as well. Worse, because it made the job much harder, Pem probably held the answer to that problem. He wouldn't be at all willing to give it up...

Nelson stepped into the elevator, and gave vent to a few blue curses once the door was closed. The present contained quite enough challenges, without the future throwing the book at him as well. The phrase _trouble magnet_ had taken on new meaning over these past few years as Seaview and her crew rose to prominence. Now it seemed there was no rest for the weary; the trouble just kept coming, with no way to dam the flow...

The elevator jolted and shuddered. Not enough for an earthquake, but enough for Nelson to take notice. He turned in the small space and saw that he was suddenly not alone. "Who the devil are you?"

But he didn't need the answer; not really. He would have recognized Admiral Morton anywhere, anytime as a descendant of Chip Morton, and he would recognize this man without any introductions whatever. Anywhere, anytime. That commanding height and presence, the dark lashes, the expressive eyes. Oh, yes, he knew this man, even if he didn't know his name...

That lack was soon remedied. The man stared back at him for a moment, then nodded. "Your pictures don't do you justice, sir. I am Admiral Harriman Crane."

Nelson absorbed the shock in silence, but he was considerably moved. Clearly, his boys would not forget him; his name was carried forward in their families... His history survived. That was no small measure of respect. Gruffly, he snarled, "And your business here?"

This older, self-assured Crane studied him for a moment then sighed. His lips curved in just such a self-conscious smile as Lee sometimes sported when he knew he hadn't behaved himself. "I've... misplaced... a friend."

"Let me guess..." Of course, it was no guess, and they both knew it. Nelson pushed the hold button on the elevator, stopping its descent. "Admiral Morton? And you hoped I'd be able to help you?"

Hope flared in those long-lashed dark eyes. Admiral Crane took a step forward, coming just a bit too close in the elevator's small space. Nelson held his ground and waited for the man to say something. "Then he's here? Thank God!" He seemed to realize his proximity and jolted back that single step. "Sir, you have no idea..." His voice failed him. He drew in a deep breath and tried again. "There are no words..."

Nelson snorted. "And yet you seem to have found a few." He moved further away, into the corner by the elevator buttons. Crane had a great deal of presence; the admiral knew he was looking at Lee's future and had to hide the smug and satisfied smile. "I'm sure you have some sort of explanation for how you managed to... misplace him?"

Crane blinked, then smiled that devastatingly shy smile. "I'm not sure there is an explanation that would satisfy you, sir. It's mostly speculation. All I know for sure is that we were sitting in Jack's office having coffee, when we experienced a time slip, Jack lost his memory, and then he was... gone..." He shrugged eloquently. "I wasn't sure that he'd come here... I'm so glad you have him safe!"

Nelson pondered that, wondering if he could ever really be sure anyone was safe when time travelers could just pop in and out of the time stream. "And I'm to just accept that you're his friend, am I?" The question was merely rhetorical. He had already accepted that fact; it suited his fancy, for one, that his protégés and their families had remained close. But for another, the intensity of the concern in Admiral Crane's eyes was unmistakable. The warmth and relief that flooded that gaze when he realized that Morton was here had been obvious. Nelson reached out and sent the elevator on its way again. "What happened? What wild speculation can you offer me? Pem is involved somehow, I'm sure."

Crane frowned at that, his long-fingered, expressive hands balling into knotted fists. "I'm sure of that, too. For one, he disappeared from the Lunar Penal Colony, the week before I... uh... misplaced Jack." He shook his head, clearly frustrated. "But I can't figure out how he did it. He had no timepiece, and the penal colony is supposed to be a temporal dead zone. Jack had his doubts about that, but there have never been any escapes from the place..."

"Until now." Nelson growled the words, frustrated and inclined to be sharp. "No place is ever escape-proof. You should have taken more precautions!" He exited the elevator as the doors opened, stalking down the hallway, aware that Admiral Crane matched him stride for stride. "What did he do?"

"Pem?" Crane looked surprised, but it was an act. Nelson was too familiar with the admiral's ancestor not to know it. "I know he's involved somehow, but I don't know how. And I'm not sure he did anything..."

Nelson spun toward the younger man with a snarl. "Cut the crap. You know damned well he did something. You will be straight with me, mister. I won't settle for anything less."

For a moment, Admiral Crane seemed to be at point nonplus. Then he smiled and raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Jack said you wouldn't have the wool pulled over your eyes, sir." He sobered abruptly and added with a serious frown, "I hope you realize that I am only trying to protect Jack, and you, sir. If Pem is involved in this – and I say if, because it's unproven – you already know what he's capable of. I've come to take Jack home. We'll sort it out, and leave you out of it."

Nelson snorted. "Like hell you will! A.) Mr. Morton came to me for help, even though he hadn't the slightest clue who I was or why I should help him. I am not about to leave him to your mercies, even if I believe you're a friend. I gave my word I would help him, and I'm not going back on it. B.) He seems to be linked to... whoever did this to him. Which means we have a way to draw the man in and catch him. If it's Pem – and I'm 99.9% sure that it is – you couldn't hold him before. Why should I believe you can now? And C.) Mr. Morton's memory is completely gone, but he's no idiot. If he'd wanted your help, he'd have stayed in his own time. He didn't. He came to me. So I will not surrender him to you or anybody else who tries to poke their nose in." He paused, but glared Crane into silence when the other man tried to speak. "I'm not averse to your help; it might even be critical. But you are not taking him out of my hands, or leaving me out. Get used to it."

The younger admiral – Lee's descendant; it was so strange to be laying the law down to someone who looked and acted so much like Lee – blinked for a moment, as if trying to assimilate all Nelson had said, then ducked his head and glanced upward through those long, thick lashes. That was Lee's trick to a T. "Yes, sir," he said meekly, but Nelson wasn't fooled. There was no way that Admiral Crane was any meeker than Captain Crane. "But there's a danger you may not have considered..."

"Your ancestors are safely tucked away. As long as you don't go aboard Seaview, we shouldn't have any disasters." Nelson turned away ignoring Crane's sudden shout of laughter, but warmed by it. He sounded so much like Lee...

"You are a marvel, sir." Crane hurried to catch up with him, and they went into the storeroom, shoulder to shoulder.

Francis Sharkey spun to face them and stared with comical dismay at Admiral Crane. The only other occupant of the room – Admiral Morton – tensed but after a glance at Nelson, dismissed Crane with hardly a second look. It was the COB who spoke. "But, sir, I thought..." He trailed into silence and his eyes narrowed; no fool, Francis. A bit slower to catch on, sometimes, but once he made the leap, he knew what was what. He would have identified those four stars instantly. Now he was putting two and two together, and Nelson was confident he'd get the right answer. "You're not Captain Crane..." He looked Admiral Crane up and down, then sighed, and addressed Nelson. "This is giving me a headache, sir."

"You are not the only one." Nelson sighed and crossed his arms, thinking furiously. "Since it seems we're going to have company for the long haul, we'd better bring Miss Dolores in after all. She probably isn't horribly busy right now. Go get her." He noted the sparkle in Francis' eyes, and stifled a smile. There was a considerable amount of money bet on when Francis and Dolores Brown would get together; perhaps he should put his two cents in...

The chief hurried from the room. The door had hardly closed behind him when – predictably, given what he knew of their characters – Admiral Morton said darkly, his grey eyes turning stormy, "I don't need a bodyguard..."

Crane cut him off. "You don't even know who you are, and I bet you don't know when you are, either..."

"And I can't see that it's any of _your_ business, given that I don't know who you are either."

Crane jolted back a step, and Nelson saw the hurt in his eyes. Morton saw it, too, and there was a hint of surprised guilt at the back of his eyes. He hadn't meant the words to cut, but he was no fool. He had already figured out why they had cut.

But then both of them geared up for battle, and that small connection was lost in the fray. "Whether you know it or not, it is my business. You're my best friend, Jack, no matter what you remember right now. I am not going to leave you in the lurch."

"The fact remains that I don't need a bodyguard." Morton crossed his arms as his face turned to stone; Nelson had seen Chip do that trick many times. It scared the hell out of men who weren't scared of much of anything; they knew what that pale face carved in stone meant. They'd recognize this look as meaning the same thing... "I may have lost my memory, but I'm not an idiot. I can take care of myself."

Crane mimicked him unconsciously, crossing his arms as well, though the blaze in his eyes was hot enough to raise the temperature in the room somewhat. "Which, of course, is why you're drifting in time with no idea who you are. Doing a great job, there."

"Really? You claim to be my best friend, but I can't see that you did any better protecting me. I repeat: I do not need a bodyguard."

Nelson scowled. Enough was enough. "Gentlemen - And I use the term loosely - we do not have time to argue about this." He glared at Morton. "I trust the chief with my life. It's not such a stretch, therefore, to trust him with yours." He caught Crane's smirk out of the corner of his eye and rounded on the other man. "As for you, well, Admiral Morton has a point. I can't see that you did any better either, so you've got a ways to go to prove yourself." He snarled when both men tried to speak. "I don't care who you are in your own time, and I don't care if our ranks are equivalent. You are in my time, in my Institute, in my cellar. So you will follow my rules."

"Cellar?" Both men spoke in unison and glared sharply at each other. Morton continued alone. "You're holding me in a cellar?"

"No," Nelson added silkily, seeing the hint of unease in their eyes at the tone of his voice. "I'm protecting you in a cellar. My cellar. My rules. No arguments."

"Really, Harry, you don't have to be nasty." The light feminine voice presaged the arrival of Dolores Brown on Francis' arm. The chief shrugged in apology, while Dolores – pleasingly plump and still pretty, though she was well into her forties – moved forward to look at the two young men. "Oh, my..." She never said anything stronger; a hold out from her days as a kindergarten teacher. "You do look very like, don't you? I can see why it wouldn't be a good idea for you to meet up with our boys." She smiled at them as if they were five years old and needed encouragement, then turned briskly to Nelson. "I'm guessing you want me to work out the logistics here. Are they going to stay down here? I can probably lay my hands on some cots. Not the most comfortable sleeping arrangements, but the best we can do, if we want to do it on the quiet. Francis says he'll be working on the security, which I presume means he _is_ the security..." She frowned, working it all out in her head. "You'll probably need to bring in someone else to spell Francis, so he doesn't fall asleep on the job." She patted the chief's arm affectionately. "You're marvelous, dear, but you're not a superhero. I should think Ski or Pat, since they have the most experience." She thought a bit longer, then nodded briskly. "It's doable..." She looked up and smiled again. "You've taken care of keeping Lee and Chip out of the way, I'm sure. I'll take care of the rest." She proceeded to give Nelson a list of the things she would need to requisition to get the job done.

Nelson smiled at his old friend in admiration. Dolores didn't need to be told what he wanted; she had come down here, knowing exactly what he wanted her to do and why. If asked, she would lick both admirals from the future into shape without batting an eyelash, just like she had politely but firmly laid down the law to his captain and XO and quietly but tenaciously took over the paperwork that was crippling Chip. She was on a first name basis with everyone at the Institute, and the qualities that had made her an excellent teacher also helped her to conquer the mostly male world within Seaview's confines. She was an indispensable member of his inner circle, and she would be an immeasurable help in this situation. He glanced at Francis and collected a nod of reassurance; the chief had brought Dolores up to speed, so she knew what she was up against.

"Are you listening, Harry?" she asked gently, and he smiled at her again.

"You know what you're doing, Dolores. You have a free hand." He noted that her teeth caught her lip for a moment, sure sign that she was not comfortable with the situation, but then she nodded and swept out of the room. Whirlwind Dolores...

He turned back to the other admirals and Francis; time to come up with a plan..


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Chip glanced back at the Institute gate receding behind them, appreciating the speed at which Lee drove. The little classic Cobra was a beauty, with clean elegant lines, but he preferred his own Jeep. The Cobra couldn't handle off-road action, though it could distance just about any other car on the road. Lee liked speed. And since this little trip was unauthorized, though tacitly accepted, speed suited Chip, too, at the moment.

The admiral hadn't considered the fact that he needed certain things if he were going to remain on Institute grounds until the Pem crisis was over, but Nelson would understand that the status quo couldn't be maintained without this brief trip to pack. Chip couldn't wear the same uniform everyday, and he had to brush his teeth, brush his hair, and a hundred other things that were necessary, despite the admiral's decree. Hence the reason he and Lee had escaped for awhile. Lee would help Chip pack for an unspecified number of days, and then they would go straight back to the Institute. With luck, the admiral would never know they'd gone. But if he found out, he would merely frown and perhaps growl, but that was all. This was minor, compared to Pem's reappearance…

Pem… Chip had hoped never to hear that name again. He was up to speed on what had happened in those three crazy days on the boat, but he doubted that the admiral would ever tell anyone the full story. What had Pem been up to? What had he hoped to gain? Questions that Nelson answered with thunderous silence. The single comfort he could derive from that silence was that Lee was being shut out, too. Which was why they had tacitly agreed to hash it all out while packing his clothes. If the answers to those questions could be found, they would find them. Neither of them liked being kept in the dark…

"How long do you think this will take?" Lee asked, as he expertly maneuvered the car through the twists and turns of the cliff road that led up to the Institute's gates.

Chip frowned at the question. How could he answer it? Time travel was involved and that was bound to make things screwy, not to mention mess up everyone's judgment of time. "A few days?" He shrugged. "Time travel gives me a headache."

"And you haven't even done any," Lee teased, whipping the car out onto the highway at top speed. He sobered quickly, edging over into the right lane to catch the exit that would lead into the more affluent side of Santa Barbara, where the Delancy mansion stood. "But I hear you. Do we even know how long it took to clear the mess up last time?"

"Three days to prevent your murder and mine apparently. But I don't know how many times the admiral went back before he figured everything out." Two times? Was that what Admiral Nelson had told him, in their private conversation last year.

 _"I had to go back twice to get this right. The first time was to save Lee, as you very well know. But the second time…" He took a deep breath and targeted those intense blue eyes. "The second time was for you."_

Chip drew in a deep breath. "He went back three days, each time he went back. He went back twice… Six days?" He scanned the memories analytically; the admiral had lived those three days three times… The first time he hadn't known what was coming, which made it six days to find the solution to the puzzle… Six days from the admiral's point of view… "But you and I only lived through three…" Yes, that had to be right… They hadn't ever gone back, so as far as they were concerned, the whole Pem incident had only taken three days… Hadn't it? "I think…"

Lee groaned. "If you can't figure it out with your mathematical mind, I haven't a prayer." He laughed and shook his head, braking as he turned into the street that ended in front of the Victorian house that Captain Phillips had left his XO five years ago. "Maybe we should plan on a month?" He parked in the driveway and looked up at the house. "This place always takes me by surprise."

Chip knew exactly what he meant. He always experienced some new discovery when he looked at the house; he'd lived there for five years now, but there was something waiting to surprise him every time he turned around. It was big enough, that he hadn't even begun to explore every room, much less the attic where generations of Delancy history were stored. Captain Phillips' wife, Evelyn, had been the last Delancy; she had brought the house, and the Delancy fortune into Captain Phillips' family. But when Ben Phillips had died in an accident aboard a destroyer, there had been no one left to inherit. Chip still wondered at the whim that had led the captain to leave the place, his fortune - everything really, but for a substantial bequest to the Institute - to him…

His eyes narrowed… The surprise this time was not a good one. He could see the barest shadow of movement against the curtains that covered the bay window. "Someone is in my house."

Lee had already seen the same movement. Now he touched a finger to his lips and swung the car door open quietly. Chip did the same, following Lee's lead. The captain was an expert at covert ops; whoever was in the house didn't have a prayer…

They left the car doors open, unwilling to alert the intruder to their presence. There had been a series of robberies in the area, but Chip's security was state-of-the-art. If this person had gotten past it, then he was very good indeed…

Lee waved him toward the back of the house; Chip turned aside, moving quickly and silently toward the back fence. The corner where the fence adjoined the house couldn't be seen from any of the window; the security system was undoubtedly compromised, so the strategically placed camera wouldn't see him either. He was up and over the fence quickly, ignoring the painful pull of injured muscles that hadn't fully recuperated. Will would sideline him for days if he knew about this caper, but there was no time to worry about that.

Lee would be waiting for a distraction that would allow him to enter the house without the intruder being aware; Chip knew just what he was going to do, but first, he eased up to the sliding glass door that opened onto the patio. The light went on in the kitchen, and he flattened himself against the wall beside the door, cursing silently. Nothing happened; no attack or commotion that told him the intruder had seen him. Chip drew in a soft breath, counted to ten, then risked a quick glance inside.

The man was there in the kitchen, his back to Chip. He was a small man, with an oddly rat-like feel, as if he were used to scuttling around where he didn't belong. His hair was thin, but he was dapperly dressed, almost old-fashioned, like someone out of the Victorian era… Chip frowned at the thought and withdrew to contemplate his course of action.

By now, Lee would have picked his best point of access and be looking at his watch, waiting for Chip to get into position. He would be expecting a diversion; easy enough to deliver with the man right there in the kitchen. The question was, did the intruder carry a weapon, and if so, would he be quick to use it? Will wouldn't be happy about this little excursion as it was; if either Chip or Lee came back injured, the doctor would see to it that neither of them would see action for at least a week… Seaview would sail without them. Not an outcome either of them would be happy about…

So what was safest for all concerned? Chip slid away from the sliding glass door, and gauged the distance to the shed against the back fence. He kept a few surprises in there, but he had to get there without being seen. He risked another glance inside. The intruder was looking up at the still life of fruit and game that hung over the buffet. Now was the time to go.

He moved across the yard quickly, worried about the danger in broad daylight. If the intruder looked around, he would instantly spot Chip in the yard… But he must not have turned, because Chip made it to the shed without incident. He slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside, but he didn't dare turn on the light. A glance at the luminous dial on his watch told him that only five minutes had gone by since he'd parted from Lee. Odd, how time seemed to telescope when they sprang into action; five minutes had seemed like hours. He moved briskly to the workbench, reached under to find the small spring, and twisted it. The small compartment hidden beneath the workbench opened with a soft whir, and he reached inside for the remote security device. This would definitely be a diversion… But before he used it, he removed the other item in the compartment: a fully loaded Glock automatic with a hair trigger. He checked it expertly; everything in order.

Turning back to the shed's door, Chip smiled as he pressed the green button that set off the alarm. The house shrieked its distress, as he came out of the shed, dropping the device cleanly on the grass near the shed and charging for the door. Whoever the man in his house was, he wasn't thinking about anything but the alarm and the Naval officer charging the back door.

Chip burst into the kitchen, a little surprised that no weapon had spurted fire at him before he'd reached the door. It didn't take him long to see why. Lee must have entered within seconds of the alarm going off, and now he had a furiously twisting little man under control.

"Anywhere we can lock this guy up?" he asked Chip, his breathing even; he hadn't even broken a sweat. It was no wonder ONI wanted his services as often as they did. Chip didn't approve, but he could easily understand.

"The coat closet." He gripped the man's arms as Lee transferred custody, and marched him into the hallway.

"Let me go! You're going to regret this!" The intruder twisted and writhed in his grip, but couldn't break free. Chip didn't even dignify his protests with an answer. Instead, he shoved the man up against the wall, held him with a hand in the small of his back, and opened the coat closet. It was the work of a moment to put the prisoner inside, though a soft jolt unbalanced them both for a moment.

As he stumbled into the coat closet, the prisoner ceased struggling and yelped, "My timepiece! Where is my timepiece?!" He spun around to face Chip, his nose twitching. "No, don't lock me up! I need my timepiece!"

Chip shut the door on him firmly and locked him in, but a little frisson of dread shivered up his spine… A memory swam to the surface. Admiral Nelson had handed him a watch, that first time…

 _He looked at the pocket watch. At first, he didn't really see it, too caught up in the admiral's obvious madness to be able to focus on the watch. When he did finally understand what he was looking at, it didn't make the picture any clearer. The watch marked more hours than it should… Thirty-six to be exact. And a smaller dial held the date. At the moment, the date read January third, which was correct. There seemed to be more buttons than a normal pocket watch would have. The case was gold, probably eighteen karat… It was hard to read the exact time on a dial that registered thirty-six hours instead of the normal twelve, but he thought the time was right on the money, too…_

That odd jolt had heralded the admiral's travels in time… He remembered that, and remembered the watch that the admiral had used to move backward three days…

"Lee!" he called urgently. "Don't touch the watch!" He returned to the kitchen at a run. "Lee…" His voice trailed off as he realized he was alone in the room. It couldn't be possible… Surely Lee would have known not to touch something as sinister as a time travel device… Except that the last time travel device Chip had seen had looked exactly like a pocket watch with some strange but not inherently disquieting features. If Lee had seen it, he wouldn't have thought anything of it…

Chip slid down the wall to the floor with a moan. _Damn it, Lee, where are you? When are you?_

The silence echoed mockingly back, leaving him with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach…


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Lee scanned the room as Chip hauled off the intruder. They didn't know why he had come, but he had seemed interested in this room. Lee knew it as well as Chip did. He didn't see anything missing… So why had the man broken into the house to enter this room?

His gaze swept over the watch on the floor, then returned to it. Lee stared at it for a moment. It was rustic, probably brass, not gold. Lee squatted down beside it and studied it carefully. He had thought it was crudely made, but it wasn't. Made from crude materials, probably scavenged from wherever he could find them, but the maker had definitely had skill… The watch looked like something out of one of those steam punk novels that were so popular now, vaguely futuristic, but strongly Victorian.

Rising, he opened a drawer and took out a plastic bag, then returned to the watch and gingerly picked it up with the bag. A closer look confirmed the maker's skill. Despite the crude materials, and probably crude tools, the watch was beautifully made, with arabesques and curves carefully tooled and polished to a high gloss, but there were definitely some strange features on this watch. A few more knobs than were strictly necessary, with no obvious clue to what each one did. The one at the top was probably the winding knob, the one on the right, the knob used to set the watch, but what of the knobs on the bottom and left sides of the case, and the one on the upper left, next to the winding knob? What function did they have? He gingerly flipped open the case, and found an odd, etched spiral inside, facing the dial. The spiral carried a matte finish, in contrapuntal harmony to the high shine of the surrounding brass. It was oddly compelling, despite the crudeness of the etching; probably a fault of the tool used to etch the brass rather than the maker, whose fingers were clearly skilled and agile. The dial stared at him out of three faces: one with the traditional Roman numerals, though they seemed to mark off more than the normal twelve hours; one that had fewer but longer numbers… Years? And a third face that didn't show any numbers at all. Instead, its three hands pointed to different symbols… But what did the symbols mean? Lee ran his fingers over the watch, hovering over the knobs. The admiral had spoken of a watch that allowed him to travel backward in time… Was this the same kind of thing?

The watch slipped in the plastic, and he curled his fingers around it, accidentally depressing one of the knobs. There was a slight jolt, and his stomach swam sickeningly in his abdomen, while his brain seemed to slam into his skull. For a moment, the room spun around him, drowning in a sudden fog as it swirled into a blurry mess. Then the floor seemed to solidify under his feet, and the room swam into focus again.

Only it wasn't the room he'd been in before he'd pressed the knob on the watch…

For a moment, Lee stared in shock, unable to get his bearings. This was definitely a kitchen… And the same handsome still life by an obscure American artist graced one wall… But nothing else looked familiar. The buffet was gone, to be replaced with an elegant, marble-topped sideboard, topped with a bowl of flowers and fruit expertly arranged. A feminine touch, out of keeping with Chip's elegant but masculine home. An island had been added to the center of the space, with a stainless steel sink. He remembered Chip talking about putting an island in, but he hadn't done it yet…

Off to his left, a stainless steel refrigerator, polished by years of hands touching, opening, and closing the doors, and getting water from the dispenser rubbed shoulders with a granite-topped counter, spacious and uncluttered. Next to the counter was a stove and oven. To his right, the doorway, supported by two columns, opened now to the dining room beyond. Flanking the doorway were two beautifully carved, antique china cabinets, displaying some fine china that Lee had never seen. It wasn't Evelyn Delancy's wedding china… And yet, for all the changes, the house felt like Chip's… He peered into the darkened dining room, where the twin portraits of Evelyn Delancy Phillips and Captain John Phillips no longer reigned over the buffet. Instead, there was a portrait of a beautiful redhead, smiling toward the portrait of a man in Naval uniform… But the uniform wasn't right, not for the occupant of this house... Dress blues, but there were three full stripes and a wide gold band, topped by a star on the sleeves, and four gold stars gleamed on the subject's lapels. This was an admiral… A very young admiral, with the same ice-blond hair, and strikingly straight carriage of Lee's XO… The same mischievous smile, too… But stormy grey eyes, that were focused on the artist who had painted the portrait… Not Chip Morton, but some sort of descendant… And the redhead was probably his wife… Intrigued, Lee studied the portraits, wanting to accept their invitation to explore this house he had known so well and now found to be so startlingly different…

He looked down at the watch in his hands. Somehow, this timepiece had transported him either forward or backward in time… He suspected that he'd leaped forward in time, but he hadn't changed spaces. This was the house Chip had lived in, but he clearly didn't live here still. The man in the portrait, with his commanding air, was probably the resident. The feminine touches that were most obvious with the bowl on the sideboard, subtlely claiming the space, turning it from a haven of masculinity to a home shared by two people were undoubtedly provided by the beautiful woman in the portrait…

Lee was dying to explore and see what other changes had been made, to find some clue to tell him whether he was still within his and Chip's lifetime or whether he had jumped far into the future, but he didn't dare move from the space he now occupied. If he was going to get back to his own time, he had to figure out how the watch worked… He wasn't keen on losing himself in space as well as time…

He frowned at the watch. No sense trying to preserve fingerprints now. He discarded the plastic bag and began to study the three faces. He was fairly sure the one with far too many numbers marked hours; the second numbered dial apparently marked years. The third dial with symbols may indicate space? If he reset that dial but left the others alone, would he travel in space, but not time?

How had the admiral figured these things out? Lee was no fool, and there were few who could best him at covert ops. That was not braggadocio, but a fair assessment of his abilities… But time travel was another thing altogether. He pursed his lips, then reached for the knob on the bottom of the watch. His fingers lingered on it for precious seconds while he memorized the settings on all three dials. Then with a grim smile, he twisted the knob.

The hands on the middle dial moved incrementally. This face probably represented years, which was good. He squinted at the tiny numbers and experimented moving the hands back and forth. They had been set to 2218… Did that mean he was standing in a house that was now more than three hundred years old? He smiled at the thought, and cast another quick look around, noting the changes, drinking it in with a thought to telling Chip what his house looked like so far in the future. That the old Victorian was still standing was incredible enough. He shook his thoughts away and looked back down at the watch.

The years were crammed together around the dial, making them difficult to read. He gently turned the hands back through time – he hoped these particular numbers represented years – until he reached 2015. There was no way to set a month, that he could see. Perhaps he had to set the date and time on the upper dial?

If this worked like a regular watch, then the knob on the right of the watch probably set the time. He twisted it gently, watching the hands advance on the upper dial. When had they left the Institute? He didn't want to meet himself coming and going; he had a sense that that would be bad news. It was nearly fourteen hundred hours when he'd checked his own watch, waiting for Chip's diversion. He glanced at the handsome Bremont Supermarine watch on his wrist. Fourteen fifteen hours. Not much time had passed…

He grinned at the thought. Only a few hundred years, that was all. But he quickly shook the humor off and carefully turned the hands to fourteen fifteen hours…

His fingers froze on the knob. But would that take him back to when he wanted to be, or would that take him back a few days before? He called up an image of the watch before he'd changed the setting. Yes, it had been set precisely seventy-two hours further along… But did that mean…? He groaned, but set the hands forward again.

Now… Which knob had he pressed to send him hurtling forward through time? It must have been the one of the knobs on the left. But if so, then which knob? And did one of them actually change the hands on the third face? He gingerly caressed the lower left-hand knob, then tightened his grip, turning it…

The hands on the third dial moved counterclockwise… Interesting… But he had to put them back where they had been. He turned the knob until the hands once again pointed to the symbols they'd indicated when he'd begun this strange adventure…

That left the upper left knob, and the knob on the top. Perhaps the watch didn't need to be wound? He thought the knob on the top was the most likely possibility to actually activate the watch. But then, what was the one on the upper left used for? His fingers hovered over the anomalous knob for a moment, then he shook his head, and moved to stroke the knob on the top. Eeny, meeny, miney, mo… He shook his head with a rueful laugh, then pressed the top knob firmly.

The floor jolted under his feet. Once again a fog suffused the room while his head felt like someone had stuffed a thousand ice picks into it. His stomach swam sickeningly. Clearly he wasn't cut out to be a time traveler… With a moan, he closed his eyes and just tried to hang onto the watch with his suddenly numb fingers…

"You had no authorization to leave the grounds!"

Was that the admiral's voice, raised to a thunderous bellow that echoed painfully through his head? Lee opened his eyes warily and found Admiral Nelson leaning toward Chip, his face red with anger. Chip, on the other hand, was staring at Lee, relief and anger about equally mixed in his eyes.

"Lee, what in hell did you think you were doing?" Insubordination if ever there were any. The tone was much too sharp, the icy voice enough to lower the temperature in the room a bit. Good thing no one but Admiral Nelson was here to hear…

Lee grinned as Nelson swung around to glare at him. "Don't expect me to be impressed that you figured that thing out. Give it to me!" He held out his hand, and Lee willingly dropped the watch into it. "You two are going to turn me gray. Mr. Morton, go get your prisoner. We'll see what he was up to." His eyes narrowed as he looked at Lee. "I'll second Mr. Morton's question. What in the hell did you think you were doing?"

Lee held his hands up in amused supplication. "It was an accident, I swear. I was not expecting to take a little jaunt through time." He sobered, then, taking command. "Where are the police? I trust you sent them packing, sir?"

Chip returned, escorting the rat-like little man, in time to hear the question. "The security service called before they sent the police. I told them I'd made an error inputting the code. That satisfied them." He shoved the little man forward toward the kitchen table. "Then I called the admiral."

"Which is the only intelligent thing you've done all day." The admiral growled the words, but there was no real heat behind them. He still snapped and snarled, but for the most part, he had mended his faltering relationship with his XO, which pleased Lee immensely.

They all targeted the squirming little man in Chip's grip with stern stares, but Nelson was the only one who recognized him. "Pem!" The roar could have shattered glass. Pem ceased struggling and shrank back against Chip as if hoping the XO would protect him.

"Admiral Nelson! How good to see you again. Is that my watch? I'll thank you to return it to me, so I can be on my way…" Pem babbled with a strained smile, his shifty eyes darting right and left, as if searching for an escape route.

Nelson indicated a chair at the kitchen table. "Put him there. Then go away. Pack for your stay at the Institute. Do something." His glare went from one to the other of them. " **Other** than listening at keyholes, gentlemen."

Lee protested first, followed hotly by Chip. "Sir, I am not leaving you alone with him." Lee lifted his voice over his XO's, shooting a look at Chip that immediately silenced him. "The watch is his. He's already wreaked havoc aboard Seaview, and I will not let him endanger the Institute…"

"And you think Mr. Pem is dangerous?" Nelson snorted, and waved away Lee's affirmative with an impatient hand. "Go away, Lee. And take Mr. Morton with you." He deliberately turned his back on them. Chip sighed and sat Pem in the indicated chair.

But he didn't immediately leave the room. With a determined glance at Lee, the XO said quietly, "Sir, Captain Crane is right. We know what this man is capable of. You told us what he did before…"

The admiral interrupted him sharply. "Go pack. That **is** what you came for, isn't it?" But while the words had a bite to them, the tone was not harsh. Nelson waved them away. Lee caught Chip's glance and shook his head at the younger man, frowning.

"Don't keep us in the dark, sir. We can help you…" He reached out and caught Chip's shoulder, sensing the tension in the XO. "If we're blind, we're of no use."

Admiral Nelson's lips twisted in a black frown. "And you're also in no danger. Maybe it doesn't bother you what he did last time. I remember it too vividly." He directed his gaze at Chip, whose tension was almost a tangible presence in the room, and visibly forced himself to relax, unknotting his fingers, and expending his breath in an audible sigh. "You know, too, lad. I told you what I had to do. It's best if you don't know… That you don't have the memories." His eyes slid to Lee's face, and an open flame erupted in the blue depths. "Better for both of you. Clear out, Lee. Now."

"If you shut us out…" The captain trailed into silence, recognizing defeat in those blazing eyes. The anger wasn't directed at them, but it was the underlying foundation that stiffened the admiral's back. There would be no bending here. Lee gave in as gracefully as he was able, understanding that the battle couldn't be won. "We'll be around, sir." Lee targeted Pem with a hot stare, that caused the little man to shrink into the chair. "If you need us." Turning, he gripped Chip's arm and escorted the protesting XO out. "He can handle himself. And Pem doesn't look like much of a threat."

"Not much of a threat? Last time, he killed us!" Chip bit the words off crisply, his voice frigid. "And clearly the admiral still hasn't told us everything. Why does he want to talk to Pem without us present? What is he hiding?" He contemplated that with a frown, his composure clearly ruffled. "I don't like it, Lee. I want to know why Pem was in my house. And I do think he's a threat." He glared at Lee's mischievous smile, but he wasn't proof against it After a moment, he relaxed, though he didn't smile. "Someone needs to keep an eye on the admiral. How do we know that he isn't Pem's target this time?"

"What's he going to do? Admiral Nelson has his timepiece. Where is he going to go without it? There's no one in that room who could be persuaded to hurt the admiral, and you and I both know the admiral can handle Pem. Don't worry about it." He clapped Chip on the back, putting on a confident face for his friend. Pem really didn't look like much, but – as Chip had reminded him - last time the little rat had managed to cause two murders, before Nelson was able to put things right. Which meant Pem was more trouble than he looked. "Go upstairs. Start packing."

Chip froze and his eyes turned icy. "You are not shutting me out." The chill in the air dipped alarmingly toward freezing. Lee turned the heat in his gaze up a notch.

"No, I am not. But two of us listening at keyholes is a bit much, don't you think?" He took a step forward, attempting to loom over a man who was easily as tall as he was. The attempt was not successful. "You need to pack. Go do it. By the time we are ready to head back to the Institute, I should have some information to share with you."

"Right." Chip's eyes narrowed. "Depending on whether you're really planning to share."

It was breathtakingly close to true, mutinous insubordination. Anyone else, Lee would have slapped down good and hard, but he understood his XO and friend in a way that no one else did. Instead of snapping, like the admiral probably would have, he softened his voice, dialed his impatience back a notch, and said softly. "If I didn't intend to share, I wouldn't have told you my plan." He held those cold blue eyes, until Chip flinched a bit, and looked away, silently giving in to Lee's authority.

The captain didn't make the mistake of explaining any further, or giving any more orders. Instead, he turned away, slipping up to the kitchen door. When he glanced around, a few seconds later, Chip was halfway up the stairs…


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Admiral Nelson's temper sizzled as he glared at Pem, watching the little man cower in his chair. He had questions, all right, but he was fairly sure he knew why Pem had come here; he was seeking information. His timepiece would allow him into the Institute at any moment he chose; there was no way to bar a time traveler, as Nelson had found out. He would work on that later. But before anyone tried to sneak in, he or she would want to know the lay of the land. Where better to get information than from the home of a person who worked at the Institute? Chip was not indiscreet, and would never have taken home anything that was classified, but he had maps, logbooks, unsecure paperwork, requisitions, and all manner of things that would give Pem a great deal of information. Maps would tell him where Seaview had been deployed; requisitions spoke to what supplies were needed at the Institute or on the submarine; logbooks recorded the day to day business of the boat, and would reveal names of crewmen, areas of concern, and Seaview's daily demands on her crew; unsecure paperwork might include duty schedules, proposed shifts in personnel, applications for science grants, and other minor matters that could give major information to anyone who sought it…

And that was just the small bit of paperwork Chip was still allowed to do. His load had been considerably lightened by Dolores' expert hand. Nowadays, when he took work home, it was only an hour's worth of work, as opposed to the days when he had spent hours at the Institute, arrived home after midnight, and still managed several hours of paperwork before returning to the Institute the next day. He still had plenty of work to do, but it was no longer overwhelming…

Still, it just pointed up the fact that Nelson needed to do something to secure this large, old, Victorian mansion; other people might have the same idea Pem had had about getting information, or – God forbid – harming the occupant.

The opening door drew his attention, and his eyes narrowed as Lee slipped in. He had known the captain would return; now he glared a wordless question and nodded when Lee jerked a finger upstairs. Good. He hated keeping either of his command team in the dark, but Chip wasn't yet a hundred percent after Lura's attempt to take the boat. It wouldn't be in his best interest to share information about this latest threat. Or at least, that was what Nelson would tell him if the matter came up… And, knowing Chip Morton, it probably would. He frowned; but now wasn't the time to pursue that line of thought. Now it was time to get down to business. "Mr. Pem."

"Now, Admiral, there's no need to look like that!" Pem offered an ingratiating smile. "I've never done you any harm…"

Nelson's growl cut his words off. "No harm? Are you joking? You caused two of my men to be murdered." Two of his best men… Two men he absolutely couldn't do without. Two men who… He shook the thought away. Paternal concern wasn't of any use here. "I know why you're here, Pem. Looking for information. And I know what you plan to do with it. So I'm putting you on notice, right now, that both of your targets are under my protection." Best that Pem know that he wasn't going to get to either Admiral Morton or Admiral Crane without a fight. And Nelson could and would put up a damned good fight.

Trusting Lee to watch the prisoner, Nelson looked down at the watch in his hand. In many ways it resembled the elegant timepiece Pem had given him several months ago that had allowed him to go back in time three days. A cruder version, perhaps, but the accomplished workmanship was obvious in every curve. Whatever else he could say about the man, Pem knew how to create. The watch nestled into his palm as if it belonged there. The dials were fairly well marked: one for years, one for hours, one with strange symbols arrayed around the curve of the circle. That one moved the user in space. He'd made Admiral Crane give him a crash course in time travel. He understood how the watch worked, except for the oddly hypnotic spiral etched into its surface.

But it was impressive that Lee had figured it out with no tutelage. He would never be happy that the captain sometimes accepted missions from ONI, but his skills were clearly suited to the work…

Nelson lifted his gaze from the watch to Pem, noting the sly look in the man's eyes. "Is this how you destroyed the admiral's memory?" Careful not to use names; no need to surprise Lee, or give him information he would almost certainly share with Chip. Nelson knew this interrogation was being recorded in Lee's brain, to be regurgitated point by point, when he was once again with his XO. Information was power; in the hands of his command team, it could be used to devastating effect against their enemies… But there were some things captain and XO were probably better off not knowing… Like the presence of two of their descendants in his basement.

"That was not my fault!" Pem declared, puffing himself out like a frightened cat, trying to look twice its size. "I was only trying to help…"

"So… You escaped from prison to help a man you tried to eradicate?" Nelson snorted skeptically. "Not buying it, Pem." He looked down at the watch again; that spiral raised a question mark in his head. He knew about hypnotism, and knew that sometimes spirals were used to expert effect in its practice. He had seen men put under hypnosis, and he didn't like what he'd seen. Had Pem planned to try his hand at hypnosis? But if so, why? "Is this what you used on the admiral?"

Pem ducked his head, but not before Nelson saw the cunning gleam in his eye. "I don't know what you mean… I know something terrible has happened to Admiral…"

Nelson cut him off instantly. "No names, Pem. Contaminating the timeline won't win you any friends, trust me on that one." He took a step closer, watching as Pem shrunk away from him. They understood each other very well. "You destroyed his memory. If you expect me to believe in your innocence, you're naïve. I know what you're capable of, remember?" He dropped the watch in his pocket. "We are going back to the Institute, and you are going to tell me how to fix what you broke. Because if you don't, Mr. Pem, I guarantee you will regret it." He looked over Pem's head into Lee's eyes. "Ski and Pat are outside, watching the perimeter. Get them in here to take Pem back to the Institute. I'll go with them. I noted you have your own ride."

Lee grinned. "Carte blanche, sir? Do I need to ask about the admiral you're so worried about?"

"Another damned time traveler," Nelson muttered, and watched Lee go out. He was bright; he'd figure this thing out, and heaven help them when he did. Still, it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, as long as he didn't try to meet his descendant… Or Chip's…

He shied away from the thought. He had no idea what would happen; Admiral Crane had intimated that it would be nothing good, but that could just mean that the timeline would be irretrievably contaminated, if both men knew about their time traveling descendants… Or it could mean the universe would implode or something. Time travel gave him a headache, but it was clear he was going to have to make an effort to understand it, so that he could protect both the Institute and the submarine from it; so that he could protect his people from it…

Pem had much to answer for… But it was doubtful how much they could get out of him…

"What about my watch?" Pem's telltale whine; Nelson rolled his eyes.

"You mean your weapon?" He snorted at Pem's protest. "I'll take good care of it."

"But you can't!" Pem's voice rose in a wail of despair. "I made it! It's mine, you can't have it… And you don't even know how to use it!" He came out of his chair, but the admiral easily shoved him back. Pem was no fighter… But then he didn't have to be; his crazy plans were bad enough.

"Oh, I can, believe me. And the only thing I need to know is how to reverse the damage you've done." He nodded as Ski and Pat came in. "I hope you'll be ready to answer my questions once we get to the Institute."

Pem cowered in his captors' grips, but Nelson could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Another plan… God help them all…


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Lee stopped talking, concerned about the silence in the passenger seat. It was unlike Chip to listen without comment. He should have interrupted Lee any number of times by now, with some insightful, intelligent comment on the information that Lee was sharing…

He glanced over at his friend. "You're awfully quiet…" Oh, boy… He could see the telltale marks in the slump of normally ramrod straight shoulders and the droop of the head. "Okay, look. It's past. No need to apologize. God knows you have reason to think we might leave you in the dark."

"No excuse." Chip raised his head and targeted Lee with anxious blue eyes. "I was at best disrespectful, at worst insubordinate. It was inexcusable, Lee."

"We were not on the boat, and we were not at the Institute. We were in your home, and you were being sent upstairs like a misbehaving child." Lee returned his attention to the road, noting the sudden insight into his friend's sometimes inscrutable behavior. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had followed the admiral's lead far too many times, and there were definitely times when the admiral treated his highly efficient, highly intelligent XO a bit like a child... Possibly because the two had known each other so long. Twenty years, Chip had told him once. Twenty years in Admiral Nelson's inner circle had to have been quite a ride. "It was perfectly understandable. So we're even." He shifted gears, zooming along the highway. "Did you even hear a word I said?"

"Lee…"

"Not another word." Lee thought about that, and grinned. "Unless you're going to say something about what I told you. With carte blanche from the Admiral, in case you were wondering. I suspect he's worried that you're not a hundred percent, so he doesn't want you involved… But he doesn't want you in the dark, either." He took a hand from the wheel to forestall a comment. "What do you think about this admiral that Admiral Nelson is protecting?"

For a moment, he thought silence would be his only response; he really should have known better. Chip hardly ever spoke without thinking things through first. This time was no different. But instead of sharing his thoughts immediately, he answered a question with a question, something Admiral Nelson did on a regular basis. It irritated Lee no end, but it also illustrated how much the XO had unconsciously modeled himself on Admiral Nelson. Sometimes Lee wondered if the older man had ever noticed that. "How much do you know about the first time that Pem… interfered with us?"

Lee contemplated that for a moment. "I know he aggravated Nash's illness by feeding his paranoia. Will's exact words, by the way. And I know he apparently killed us." He paused, considering that. "And I know there was an ulterior motive for both of those… murders that weren't." But the admiral hadn't been forthcoming about anything else. He'd insisted that Lee was only a sideline, that the real target had been Chip and that therefore Chip was the one with need to know… He glanced at his passenger again. "I take it you know a little more than that."

Chip frowned, staring into the past with hooded eyes. "Not much more." He thought a little while longer, and his scowl deepened. After a moment, he turned his head to capture Lee's intent gaze. "You might want to watch the road."

Lee grinned and took the turn into the Institute's long drive at top speed. He had dreamed about being a race car driver once, before his father's death had changed his dreams. He still cultivated speed for speed's sake, but he knew what he was doing. Accidents were always possible, but he knew how much he could push the envelope. It was a skill that had served him well on the ONI missions he undertook. "You've got something. Time to spill."

"Pem's intention, as far as the admiral could figure out, was to wipe someone from the timeline. He speculated that it might have been one of my descendants."

More than speculation if Lee knew Admiral Nelson. "His reasoning?"

"Admiral Nelson seemed to think I was the target all along, that you were simply the bait to make him go back in time, and change the circumstances…"

Chip stopped talking as Lee paused at the gate, rolling down his window, and exchanging small talk with the guard. After a smile and a wave, he drove on, giving Chip his attention again. "A bit of overkill – if you'll pardon the pun – just to make the admiral do what he wanted, don't you think?"

"He didn't share everything with me, but he did let slip in a later conversation something about an admiral who was – in his words – too damned young." Chip contemplated that for a moment, as Lee pulled up before his bungalow.

"Interesting… And you're thinking this could be the same admiral?" Lee reluctantly put his car in park, and patted the dash affectionately. "Sounds reasonable." He paused, thinking it through, and grinned. "You do realize that this might mean one of your descendants actually becomes an admiral?"

"I'm fantasizing that he's the youngest admiral in the history of the Navy," Chip said with a perfectly straight face, lifting an eyebrow at Lee's delighted laugh. Trust the XO to comment with a dry sense of humor that was most often kept buried where no one ever saw it.

But the humor didn't last. Chip waited for Lee's laugh to die out, before he went on, using words thoughtfully, spending them carefully. "If Pem's here, and Admiral Nelson is protecting someone…" He paused and gave Lee an intense stare. "Then I would say my descendant is also here somewhere."

Lee nodded, having come to the some conclusion. "And Pem may still be trying to eradicate him from the timeline. Which means…" He shook the thought away. Best not to go there, but he was beginning to understand why Harry Nelson had rearranged things so that Chip would be here in Lee's bungalow, under Lee's thumb much of the time. He smiled an easy, deceptive smile and changed the subject. "Admiral Nelson doesn't want you to meet your descendant. I wonder why?"

Chip's eyes narrowed; clearly he had already figured the problem out for himself, but he went along with the change of subject, easily enough. "It would muck about with time, something they're probably not supposed to do."

Lee nodded and opened the car door. "Let's get you settled in my guest room." He went around to the trunk and lifted out Chip's bag. "You travel light, my friend."

"It's an art." Chip closed his car door and reached for the bag, frowning when Lee shook his head. "I can carry the bag, Lee."

Lee hefted it speculatively and shook his head again. "Will said nothing heavier than five pounds, tops. I'd say this weighs around eight."

"That restriction was weeks ago!" Chip reached for the bag again, but Lee tugged it out of reach and shook his head a third time.

"And it hasn't been lifted yet." Lee smiled his most innocent smile, knowing how much he himself would hate the restrictions, but determined to impose them, anyway, sure that Will knew what was best. "I know you didn't think that staying with me meant that you didn't have to do what Will said." The words were light, but a clear warning.

"Of course not," Chip answered coldly, his face carefully expressionless. "But it is my bag. And it's nowhere close to eight pounds. I packed it. I should know."

"So we're going to stand here in my driveway arguing about who's going to carry your bag?" Lee had to laugh at the absurdity, glad when Chip, too, reluctantly smiled. This opportunity was unlooked for, but he would use it to pry some information out of his quiet, unassuming XO. He already knew a lot, but it wouldn't hurt to learn more; it would help him read a nearly unreadable man even better, and he doubted there were any real skeletons there. A lot of heartache maybe, but no skeletons. He smiled at his friend and led the way into the house.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Pem shrank beneath the combined scorching glares of three four-star admirals, and the pugnacious belligerence of a lone chief petty officer. Seldom had his plans gone so far awry, and his brain raced in an attempt to come up with some way to disarm his captors and escape. "Now, gentlemen, there's no need for this… unpleasantness!" He twisted his lips into a smile that he hoped would calm the waters somewhat. "I'm only trying to help…"

"Help?" Admiral Crane snorted in distaste. "You? Help? All you do is cause trouble, Pem."

"No, no, I help people, Admiral Crane!" Pem cringed at the molten lava in that imperious gaze and ducked his head. "I admit sometimes my efforts do not bear fruit, but my aim is always to help people." He transferred his pleading gaze to Admiral Morton. The man was glaring at him, yes, but he also seemed uncertain, as if he couldn't really remember their last meeting… Which was what Pem was counting on. If he were to get any mercy from anyone, he had the best chance of getting it from the one person in the room who remembered absolutely nothing of the havoc Pem had caused over the years. "Admiral Morton, you agree, don't you? My aim is always to help, and I was only trying to help you…"

Morton cocked his head, and those grey eyes turned stormy. "So this is what you call help? Stealing my memory? And don't try to weasel out of it, because even if I don't remember you clearly, I am ninety-nine percent sure that you are responsible for everything that's happened to me over the last few days. And I am not happy about that."

"Trust me, none of us are happy about that." Admiral Nelson finally spoke, and Pem cowered at the tone. Of the three of them, he feared Admiral Nelson the most. The first time he'd encountered the man, he'd underestimated him. He wasn't anxious to make the same mistake.

Pem would have to choose his tone carefully. The attempt at presenting a helpful face wasn't working, but it was the only way he knew to influence them. He lifted his head and smiled benignly. "Now, Admiral Nelson, I've helped you in the past, and you know it. Remember how I helped you go back in time and save your men?"

"Oh, yes, I remember. You killed my captain, helped me go back and save him, then tried to dissuade me from saving my XO from your dastardly little plot." Nelson frowned and stepped closer, causing Pem to retreat a few steps. "I remember how you wreaked havoc on my boat. Just like you're wreaking havoc now." He pulled something from his pocket… A timepiece! Pem reached out for it eagerly, only to have it snatched from his grasp. "You used this to steal Admiral Morton's memory. How do we reverse the effects?"

Oh dear… The very question Pem had hoped they wouldn't ask. If he knew the answer, he would divulge it at once, and then remind them of his cooperation when it came time to bargain. But he didn't know the answer… He didn't even know what he'd done to get this particular result… He quivered a bit, but managed to tell the truth in a voice that was a bit too shaky. "Uh… I don't know?"

He could have kicked himself. Why had he made it a question? He really didn't know! And now they would never believe him… He cast a fearful glance at Admiral Nelson. "I really don't know…" The words burst from him in response to the admiral's thunderous expression. "I only meant to… uh…" He bit the words off with some difficulty. Probably best not to admit that he'd planned to hypnotize the admiral and turn him against his best friend, Admiral Crane. Oh, dear… This was not good at all…

"I'll get it out of him, sir." That was the chief petty officer. Who was now regarding Pem as if he were a particularly loathsome insect… "Just give me a few minutes."

Pem shuddered; really, what had he done to earn this lowlife's disrespect and anger? And yet, the man did look dangerous, standing there with his fists clenching and unclenching. "No, wait!" Pem shrank back from the combined stares and lifted his hands placatingly. "I really don't know. But maybe if you give me the watch, I can figure it out?"

Admiral Nelson looked about to explode. "Give you the watch?! Just hand you your weapon? What kind of a fool do you take me for?" He loomed over Pem quite successfully, even though Pem noted in a fearful sort of way that the admiral wasn't much taller than he was himself. "Answers, Pem. That's all I want. When you're done giving them, these gentlemen can lock you away for the rest of your disreputable life." He spun to face the petty officer. "Francis. Go watch the corridor. I don't want anyone walking into this."

The chief petty officer looked a bit disappointed to not be in on the kill, but he nodded. "Aye, sir. No one will get in here." He stepped out the door and disappeared from view.

Nelson glanced at Crane and Morton. "Since he won't talk to us, I don't see any other avenue."

Crane nodded, but Morton seemed hesitant, though he kept his mouth shut. "We'll have to use his own timepiece on him." Crane held his hand out, and Nelson dropped the watch in it. Crane studied it for a moment, then held it out to Morton. Pem's nemesis shook his head and turned away. Crane sighed and cast an anxious glance at Nelson before he spoke. "There's an odd knob here on the top left of the watch. It seems superfluous, but it probably triggers something."

Unexpectedly, Morton spoke up, offering the voice of reason. Pem wiped his forehead as he listened. "I'm not comfortable with this."

"And you shouldn't be!" The words broke from Pem, to his horror; he couldn't prevent himself from babbling, so strong was his fear. "Why that thing could be dangerous! I don't know why they think it's mine, but you surely know that I would never do anything to hurt anyone…" He broke off when those icy grey eyes turned his way. Clearly, here was no ally…

"I'm not comfortable with it because we'd become no better than you are, if we use it on you." The words dripped a sort of acidic contempt. But then the gaze slid away to meet Crane's and Nelson's, and the contempt dropped away. "I'm not ready to sink to his level yet, and I think we're all agreed that I have the most to lose in this."

Sink? As if Pem were a bug that had crawled out from under a rock? Pem twitched his nose, not liking the sound of that. All these admirals seemed to have little or no respect for him. Well, who had escaped from the Lunar Penal Colony? Who had stolen Admiral Morton's memory? Who had tracked him here to Admiral Nelson's Institute? Pem wasn't the dim little weasel they all thought him! He began to back away carefully as they argued over what to do. If he could just make it to the door…

But wait! That petty officer was out there, waiting… Pem froze, thinking it through. Somehow he had to get his hands on his watch. It was the only way to escape.

Think, Pem, think… He slipped a little further away from the arguing admirals, and squatted down, trying to force ideas into his brain… Running away wasn't an option until he had the watch. But how to get the watch? He considered and rejected several options, then smiled as the least likely one occurred to him. Of course… He only had to appear to cooperate, and they would drop his escape route right into his hands… He rose to his feet and cleared his throat, cringing a little as three pairs of eyes turned toward him. "Naturally, I'm willing to help. Anything to help Admiral Morton regain his memory." He smiled bravely and took a few steps toward them. "But you must see that I can't risk my own sanity, gentlemen. How can I help you if I lose my memory, too?" He allowed a wheedling tone to creep into his voice. "Please. Let me just look closely at the watch. You don't even need to let me hold it. But I must know what I'm getting into." He moved closer to Admiral Crane, his eyes on the watch, his nose twitching.

"You won't get the watch that easily." That was Admiral Morton, stepping between Pem and his goal, his tone cold enough to freeze blood. "We're too closely linked, Pem. I know what you're thinking, even if I don't know my own name."

Nelson intervened, his tone as hot as Morton's was cold. "Ready to sink now? Because I really can't see any other options."

"Doesn't matter." Crane's voice was stony. "Two against one. Sorry, Jack, but you're overruled."

Morton shook his head. "Surely this is not the only option. We don't have the slightest idea what that thing will do to him. And since when did we become tyrants who experiment on prisoners, just because we can?" He looked from one to the other admiral. "I don't like it."

"Then go wait in the hall with Francis." Admiral Nelson managed an indifferent tone… just. But the look he flicked toward Admiral Morton was more paternal than Pem had expected. "We are not going to hurt him…"

"How do you know that?" Morton interrupted, insistent. "How do you know what that watch will do? The only thing we really know is what it did to me." He paused, visibly marshalling his thoughts. "He's no good to us if he loses his memory. Then we'll never know how to reverse this." He turned his head, capturing Crane's eyes with an intense look that Pem couldn't read. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering who I am. You keep telling me you're my friend. You should understand that."

Pem drew his breath in; the last thing he had expected was for his nemesis to be arguing his side of things so very effectively. But maybe he could use this, turn it to his advantage… He withdrew a little while they were all focused on each other. He had to think… That watch was dangerous, and no one knew that better than he did himself. He couldn't afford for them to use it on him, as if he were some kind of guinea pig; the thought was more than distasteful… It was downright scary! He shuddered and began to busily dissect his options, looking for the best one.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Admiral Nelson couldn't be surprised at this turn of events. It had played out exactly as he had expected it to, with Admiral Crane – so like Lee, it was uncanny – on his side, and Admiral Morton – the image of his ancestor – arguing against him. Admiral Crane understood the principle of the ends justifying the means. If he were as much like Lee as he seemed, he wouldn't like it, but he did understand it.

Morton, on the other hand, was one of those rare individuals: the straight arrow, who passionately believed in right and wrong, and couldn't believe that the end – no matter how desirable – was worth the practice of deceit or cruelty in order to attain it. It was a valuable viewpoint, and Nelson never underestimated it. Lee was his right-hand man, plotting and scheming to get things done alongside him, not wanting his hands to get dirty in the effort, but realizing that sometimes there was a need. Chip was a different animal entirely. His immeasurable value lay in his ability to serve as Nelson's conscience, keeping him on the straight and narrow. The admiral had accepted long ago that both of them were as precious to him as if they were his own flesh and blood. Lee understood him, and Chip kept him balanced.

But there was no time now to argue about the solution to this problem. He had no idea how this device worked, but he had had a crash course in time travel and the devices used for it from Admiral Crane. He was no fool, either; it was clear that the knob on the upper left – the extraneous knob – was the key. He glanced at Morton, knowing the admiral wasn't going to like this, but now was the time to act. He reached out and lifted the watch from Admiral Crane's fingers. Discussion had gained them nothing; Pem either couldn't or wouldn't tell them how to reverse the damage he had done. They would have to figure it out for themselves. He weighed the pros and cons and made his own decision; now the watch was in his hands. His was the obligation to act. Stepping quickly toward Pem, Nelson thrust the watch in his face, and hit the upper left knob.

"No!" Pem's shriek hung in the air, reverberating with the raucous tone of a siren. The little man recoiled in fear, then froze, half-crouched, his hands flung upward as if to shield himself. His body swayed awkwardly, and his eyes had grown huge in his rat-like face. Nelson noted clinically that they were fixed on the spiral that decorated the watch's case.

The watch hummed softly, almost drowned out by the sound of Morton's automatic protest, and Crane's efforts to restrain him from interfering. But within seconds all sound in the room had been subverted by the hum. Nelson wasn't even sure he would be able to hear his own voice above the swelling sound that seemed to have sucked the air out of the room.

Pem seemed to be hypnotized, staring at the watch with little or no expression. His hands fluttered down to his sides helplessly as he stared at the now softly-glowing spiral that stood out from the shiny finish of the watch case. It seemed to be in motion, lazily turning in time with the hum. Nelson shook his head and tore his gaze away from it, unwilling to suffer the same sort of paralysis that held Pem in its grip. Whatever this was, it was powerful indeed.

Nelson risked a quick glance over his shoulder, and found that Crane was staring at Morton, who also seemed to be mesmerized, his gaze fixed on a point just beyond Pem, the grey eyes unfocused and frighteningly blank. If they had needed any proof that somehow, the two were linked together in some way, they had it now. Admiral Morton couldn't even see the spiral on the watch case, but he was held just as securely in its grip as Pem was. Nelson turned back to the rat-like little man.

Pem still swayed in time to the hum, but now he whimpered as well, a breathless animal whimper as if he were in pain, and his soft little cries were intensified by the watch's hum. Behind Nelson, the same sort of soft moans echoed Pem's. Something was definitely going on here, and he wasn't sure what. But if this was some strange form of dual hypnosis… He cleared his throat and said sternly, "Pem. How does this watch work?"

Pem's hands clenched into tight little fists of distress, and he choked as if he couldn't get the words out. In spite of him, they came. "I don't know…" He sobbed quietly, his whole body yearning toward the spiral. His voice carried a hushed, detached note as if he weren't even aware of what he was saying, but it rose in pitch and volume. "I was trying to hypnotize him! I thought I could turn him against Crane. I don't want his memories! Take them away!" He flung his hands up with a cry, then suddenly collapsed, writhing, his hands clutched to his head, fingers clenched in his hair. "Make it stop! Please, make it stop!"

"Jack!" Crane's cry heralded the thump of his knees hitting the floor, as he went down under Morton's sudden dead weight. Nelson swung around to see Morton shuddering with painful spasms that racked his entire body. His hands had curled up and were pressed against his temples. Crane bent over him helplessly, unable to ease his distress, and the glare Lee's ancestor sent Nelson was reproachful, accusing…

Disconcerted and concerned, Nelson shut off the watch, using the upper left knob. The hum stopped, but the moans of pain continued for a few seconds. Nelson ignored Pem and scrambled over to Crane and Morton, wondering what he had done…

Crane hunched his shoulders as if he'd been betrayed and shut Nelson out as his hands worried at his friend's shoulders. "Jack? Jack, are you all right?"

For a moment, only silence greeted the question. Crane's furious gaze targeted Nelson. "He told you no." His hands kept shaking Morton gently, as if they had a mind of their own. "Jack? Damn it, Jack, answer me! Are you all right?"

"No." The response was weak, but acrid. Morton shoved Crane's hands away, and slowly, shakily pushed himself up. "Honestly, Harry, how could you possibly expect me to be all right after…" His voice trailed off, and he struggled to a sitting position, gaze fixed on Admiral Crane. "My God… I know who you are!"

"Oh, no… No, no, no, no…" Pem wailed suddenly, his cry of despair and anger drowning out everything else, and bringing Francis into the room, his fists clenched, his face tight. "No, you've ruined everything!" The little man curled into a fetal position, as if he could protect himself from the consequences of his actions. "I knew how to use it, I knew how I was going to get my…" He broke the words off, suddenly realizing what he was saying. Lunging to his feet, he stood there under four pairs of watchful eyes, swaying lightly, looking a shadow of himself. "You've ruined everything…" A mournful undertone colored his voice. His nose twitched. "I could have won this time."

Nelson shuddered as a sense of unease crawled up his spine. If ever a man was mad, that man was Pem. Worse, he was brilliant in his own way, with an artistic temperament that enhanced his madness. Nelson looked down at the watch Pem had made, noting the soft afterglow of the spiral carved on the case… This was indeed a dangerous weapon.

He closed the watch case and fixed both admirals from the future with a determined glare. "I take it all is well?"

"Well?" Morton bit the word off crisply, then shrugged, his expressive hands splaying wide in uncertainty. "I… guess…"

Crane was more forthcoming. "I'll have Ski look him over when we get back to our own time." He, too, looked uncertain, and studied his friend anxiously. "But you remember me… And you know what happened?"

"Oh, I know what happened." Morton turned his mercurial glare on Pem. "Do you still think I'm paranoid?"

Crane almost smiled… Almost. But then he curbed the impulse ruthlessly. "I never thought you were paranoid. Just... Maybe a little over the top." He, too, turned his gaze toward Pem, a sharp raking gaze that made the little man cower. "Now I know you're right."

After a moment's silence, it was Morton who spoke first, with that easy grace and good humor that was so markedly different from his ancestor. "Once again, we have to thank you, Admiral Nelson. You seem to be making a career of pulling our bacon out of the fire."

"Hey, speak for yourself," Crane protested, laughing. "It was your bacon in the fire. Mine was fine!" He turned the full force of that charming smile on Nelson. "We owe you, sir."

Nelson snorted, hiding the warmth that rose inside him. "Glad I could help, gentlemen. You can take Pem off my hands. Again. But this time, make sure he stays put." He dropped Pem's watch into his pocket, observing their exchanged glances. "As for this, I think I'd better keep it right here, so no one is tempted to use it."

Crane stepped forward pugnaciously, clearly prepared to argue, but Morton rose to his feet, laying a hand on Crane's shoulder. "Let it go, Harry." He met Crane's eyes calmly. "He's right. We cannot afford to take that thing to the Time Board. When they grasp what it can do…" He shuddered, and Crane stared at him thoughtfully. "That watch is a menace, little better than a weapon. Once someone in our time knew such a thing could be built…" Morton shook his head and glanced at Nelson, his eyes shadowed. "It would be best if you destroyed it, sir."

Nelson noted the deferential _sir_ ; a mark of respect from a man who held an equivalent rank. He stifled a smile; the situation was too dark to display pleasure, no matter how innocent it was. But he was conscious of a sense of pride that his command team had produced two such admirable offspring some time in the distant future… And that their families had carried his name down the centuries… Good to know that he wouldn't be forgotten… "Oh, I'll take care of it," he promised grimly. "See that you do your part." He reached into the opposite pocket and produced Morton's timepiece. "I think this is yours?" Not that there had ever been any doubt of that. He turned it in his fingers, admiring the workmanship.

It happened too fast… Afterwards, Nelson found the ability to be amazed at how fast and how ruthless Pem could be. The little man shoved Francis with a strength belied by his slight build, and the chief sprawled backwards, hitting the floor with a thud.

The next instant, Pem cannoned into Admiral Nelson, knocking him flat as well. The watch tumbled from the admiral's fingers, but Pem caught it before it hit the ground, and before anyone had a chance to do more than cry out, he was gone, vanished into the embrace of time…

The four men left in the room stared at each other in dismay…


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Thank you, madam! I'm sure your husband will enjoy the watch!" Augustus Pem bowed to the woman who accepted the commissioned pocket watch from his hands. He had made a name for himself, here in the past… Not his own name, of course, and there were times when he became heartily sick of Perry August, watchmaker extraordinaire. But they would still be looking… All those people who had joined together to thwart him… He couldn't let himself be found before he was ready…

He moved to the door, opening it for the woman, and watching her walk away, before he closed and locked the door and flipped the Open sign to Closed. The most you could say about this small California town in 1890 was that it was a simpler place and a simpler time. Most folks were completely honest. They never questioned the prices of his wares. Most of them were content to think they had spent money for something no other watchmaker would be capable of. And they had. All braggadocio aside, Pem was a fabulous watchmaker. His skills were exceptional…

He watched a carriage go by on the street outside. He had made enough money here to have one of those himself, but it was better to continue to lie low. History had never had an Perry August, Watchmaker. Even that small little change in this timeline could snowball down the time stream, until in the future, it became big enough to give him away. So he was very, very careful, and kept himself to himself. Even when Rhoda was around…

Rhoda… His assistant, something of a novelty in this time period. A woman who worked in a store… But Rhoda was a pioneer, hardy stock, and she was out on her own. In a way, he had saved her by taking her in and letting her work here, and she was very good at selling his wares…

He shuddered all over and shut thoughts of Rhoda away. She was gone for the day. He was closed… Now was the time to finally put the finishing touches on his masterpiece. He returned to the sales counter and reached beneath it for the watch wrapped in silk. Placing it lightly on the counter, he carefully unwrapped it and looked at it with a perfectionist's eye.

He had removed futuristic features, so that the watch would not seem strange to the Victorian crowd among which he moved. But the lacy curves and arabesques he had left alone; not quite what might be expected by critical eyes of the time, but foreshadowing Art Deco, which was to come. And very pleasing, yes, very pleasing.

He had also removed the time travel apparatus. It wouldn't do to have people accidentally traveling through time. While it would create confusion, which would certainly aid his plans, it would also create chaos, which wouldn't be helpful at all. And the damage it would do to the timeline might be irreparable. He couldn't have that... Besides, there were plenty of materials here, good materials. He'd built his escape route; he didn't need this watch anymore.

Certain chemicals available in camera shops had abraded the initials down, until they could no longer be read. He'd built up the surface then with thin slices of gold leaf, and fused them using tools he wasn't supposed to have in this time period. The reasons he had to work late at night in the shop, when no one was around to see lurked in his tool box; tools from far in the future, tools that he wouldn't even be able to explain to anyone here in 1890... But he had needed them to repair the deeply abraded surface, so that he could engrave new initials on the case: BCC, instead of JNM. The initials of the man for whom this watch had been commissioned.

Lifting the watch carefully, he flipped the case open and smiled. With better tools, steadier fingers, he had etched a beautiful spiral design into the case. The matte curves stood out from the brightly polished surface, and he had added the knobs and gears needed to activate the hypnosis cycle he had spent several years packing into the watch, moving gears, resetting tiny parts, until he made it all fit within the watch casing.

A dangerous weapon, Admiral Nelson had called his crudely made prototype. By now, somewhere in the future, it lay in pieces in a land fill somewhere, gone beyond repair. But Admiral Morton's watch had been remade into a fine replacement for what was lost. Better conceived, better designed, and far better made. Three years here in the past had given him the time to perfect his design, and to remake the watch into his own. He had never let anyone see it. Not even Rhoda, even though she'd begged to see what he worked on in the dead of night when everyone else was asleep…

Rhoda… He would miss Rhoda… Perhaps when he had conquered his enemies, he would come back for her… He could redesign her as well, remold her into his queen…

But first, he had people to destroy. Soon, soon, he would be able to slip again into time's embrace, to seek out his enemies one by one and destroy them. Here in the past, it had been an easy matter to track down people who had no reason to fear him. It was why he had come to this place, to this little town. He lived just down the street from Arabella Pennington, who – in three months – would marry Benjamin Chester Crane, the popular harbormaster, who was the toast of the town…

Arabella, the beautiful young debutante, had commissioned a watch for her wedding, a gift for her husband to be. The wedding would be the event of the season, an extravaganza in white and gold, to which Perry August, timid little watchmaker, would not be invited. Oh, but he would be there in spirit...

The watch was beautiful; true, he couldn't claim credit for that. It had been made by other hands, but he had enhanced, oh, yes, he had. And it was beautiful and unique, an object that the proud groom would undoubtedly wear ostentatiously... And when the time was ripe, it would do it's work. Em rubbed his hands together in anticipation, then reached for the watch.

He closed the case carefully. This watch wasn't what Arabella thought it was, and soon, she and her new husband, Benjamin Crane, would both feel the effects of that mistake. When he had destroyed their marriage – and young Crane's reputation – beyond repair, then he could move forward in time to seek out others, whom he would take pleasure in destroying for the havoc they would wreak in the future… He didn't need to kill them; he wanted to see what his hand had wrought when he returned to Admiral Nelson's time, and then to his own. The changes would be devastating; of that he was sure.

Only three months and a handful of weeks to wait before his job here was done… Pem smiled as his fingers clenched around the watch in his hand. Somehow it was fitting that his nemesis' timepiece would be his means of gaining his revenge…


End file.
